A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words
by BaBe-WiTh-BiTe
Summary: *COMPLETE* Harry and Draco both have feelings for eachother but cannot admit it. Is it hopeless or could a competition provide a last chance?. Art. Love. Ancient Power. Love. Angst. Love.Happy Ending.Love. did i mention love? *!*SLASH*!* R/R !KISS-SCENE!
1. the secrets

Rating: probably Pg:13 might get up to an R

Pairing: mmmmm I'll tell you next chapter . . .though I think u will work it out

Main characters: Harry P, Draco M

Summary: it's 7th year and two people are in love, but neither know it.  They both have one last chance. Will they take it?

Feedback: plz plz plz plz plz plz plz if you read it tell me what you think???? I REALLY need the encouragement =P thanx muchly   

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**~ A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words ~**

It was just another lunch time, just another boring day somewhere, thankfully near the end of another dreary and difficult, yet annoyingly dangerous but miraculously final year for the 7th year students at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. Or at least that was how it appeared to two particular students that lunchtime. All most as if nothing could change, as if they were doomed to live this final year over an over again until some mysterious something happened. Little did they know that that something would happen, that their lives would soon change forever. 

The enormous Hogwarts Great Hall was filled to overflowing that day, students of every size crammed together between the cold, ancient stone walls, eating, talking and resting in what little time they had before the next class, watched over by the adults at the head table, some reproving some rejoicing, while the famous, magically charmed ceiling hovered far above them all, grey clouds clustering here and there, the pristine blue perfection obscured by layers of mist and swirling fog, while the sun waited on the edges, soon to erupt across the great dome of the midday sky, chasing away the clouds and enlightening, illuminating the path for those lost in the darkness.      

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry sat surrounded by his friends and housemates, all crowded around a huge red and gold trestle table in the great hall. Around him, all he could see was mounds of food for every possible taste and preference, and the happy, chattering faces that always accompanied these lunchtime gatherings, the result of the delicious food and short but much needed respite from the daily chore of classes. No matter what classes or what teachers they had, lunchtime was one thing that everyone enjoyed, everyone but Harry that is.

Meal times were the hardest times of the day for Harry. He was forced to sit and smile and constantly keep up "the act". Yeah, that one, the "I am the great and courageous Harry Potter, defender of the weak and defeater of all evil, the fearless, the intelligent and the pure, and I'm your friend" act. Not that Hermione and Ron and all the others weren't his friends, but how they really expected him to be so perfect he would never know, he was just an average guy, apart from the magical powers he supposed, but even they were pretty average. 

No one person could be all of those things, could be immune to temptation, totally fearless. Sometimes Harry got scared, he felt stupid, he felt dirty, he just didn't feel like he could go on any more and he couldn't always be everything to everyone, couldn't give up everything he was to be everything they needed. If he did, he would lose himself in them and Harry was so very afraid that if that happened, he wouldn't be able to find himself again. Harry was not perfect. 

You see, Harry had his share of secrets, all different kinds, that little innocent kind when he happened to have borrowed hair mousse last week because he just happened to be all out of his own, very masculine, hair gel, to the kind of secret where he cheated off Ron's Potions homework the week before that (although it hadn't really helped him that much) to that special variety, the deep, dark, shameful kind of secret that he kept locked deep within his heart. 

With all these secrets just straining to get out, Harry was deathly afraid people were going to start noticing cracks in his mask of perfection, that they would finally see through to the real Harry, the little boy who was still so terribly afraid of not being accepted just for being him, the almost-man who was afraid of himself, of the power he had no idea how to control, the foreign darkness he knew lurked somewhere deep inside himself and the terminally confused teenager coming to terms with the fact that things were not how he had originally thought they were, finally getting to know himself, to look deep inside himself and try to see what was there and struggling to understand the alarming, yet irrefutable truth he found there.

 Harry Potter was in love. 

And no one could know. 

No one could know that he was not as perfect as they thought he was.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco Malfoy sat surrounded by strangers and enemies, his head filled with their spiteful, thinly veiled insults and vicious comments. But Draco was blind to their pinched, beady eyed visages, blind to the mountains of supposedly delicious food that left only a bitter taste instead of a feeling of satisfaction, all he could see was one face, one person who seemed to shine with a golden aura of purity, seemed to shine with the goodness, the faith that was their very essence. As he did every other day, Draco stared at his beloved, the one person who he would change for, who could change him, make him become a better man and not just the twisted, cold creature he was becoming. But Draco's love was unrequited, he was forced day in and day out to live with the knowledge that he could never have that which he craved the most. True love. Trust. Friendship. Every thing pure and good that was the essential opposite of himself. These things he needed like oxygen. Like a life raft to keep him afloat in the sea of darkness and despair that had become his world and all he knew.

Draco griped the hard wood of the ancient table so hard that he left finger-sized dents, clenching his jaw as a shudder went all through his wiry frame. He could not let himself go on like this, the constant yearning was slowly tearing his soul apart, piece by tiny piece. Long ago Draco had accepted his destiny, accepted that he was fated to someday let the darkness consume him and let his heart and soul be lost in a sweeping tide of evil. At least that was what he constantly told himself, but some small part of him still fought on, battling the bleak future and holding up his love as a shining beacon to light the way to salvation. But the rational part of Draco knew that he could never really have his beloved, just this hollow mockery that was his twisted and lonely obsession with an angel.

Draco Malfoy was not quite the hardened, cynical, sadistic bastard that everyone saw him as. He watched them all from behind his mask, longing for the chance to break through the stereotype, the preconceived image that he hid behind, to share his true self and to be liked for just being himself, just another flawed individual with hopes and dreams like everyone else. He waited patiently for someone to try to break through to him, to touch the terrified buy hidden deep beneath his frozen exterior. Absolutely paralysed with the fear that no one would ever come close enough, that though the years, through every snide comment and hateful glare, his true self would be buried under ever growing layers of lies, or the icy armour he constructed around his fragile heart, the aura of power, cool control and disdain that he held about himself like a cloak, a vain effort to protect himself from the chilling blast of hatred and fear he was subjected to every day.

Draco Malfoy was in love.

And no one would care. No one would dare.

Not one person, especially his beloved, would give a damn that he was slowly dying inside, before their very eyes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC. Next chapter – the announcement

A/N – PLZ R/R??!?!?!?! *blushes* thanx muchly


	2. the announcements

Rating: probably Pg:13 might get up to an R

Pairing: mmmmm I'll tell you next chapter . . .though I think u will work it out . . .next chapter I prrooooomise

Main characters: Harry P, Draco M

Summary: it's 7th year and two people are in love, but neither know it.  They both have one last chance. Will they take it?

Feedback: plz plz plz plz plz plz plz if you read it tell me what you think???? I REALLY need the encouragement =P thanx muchly   

Thanks to: Shadowslight, Fanny_chan (arigato. Fanny chan wa totemo kawaii desune. – sorry my romanji is truelly horrendous =P), Kristina, Emma and JadeDragon, who all reviewed my first chapter. Enjoy – I hope J  

A/N whoa this was turning into a long-ass chapter so I split it up . .but hey that means u get 2 chapters for the price of one – lucky you J . . .hmmm and there a whoooolllee lot more to go  . . hmmm

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**~ A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words ~**

The noise in the Great Hall was almost deafening, hundreds of students all screaming and yelling, laughing and joking, just making noise, seeking to be heard above the noise that everyone else was making. Smiling with a fond, paternal pride Dumbledore looked out upon the students under his care, some still children but many young adults now, able to lead their own lives and choose their own destinies. Even as they all moved on, as they inevitably would, Dumbledore would still remember them all, and thank the gods each and every day for the part he played in making them the men and women they would become, for being given the incredible chance to witness their growth. Every single day he worried for all of those who were and who had been in his care, feared for their lives, their happiness and their sanity and longed to be able to make a better world for all of them but he realised the limitations of his own power. Dumbledore was not a god, just an old man with many worries and cares but so many joys and so much happiness that those problems were overshadowed and far outweighed.

Dumbledore was worried, this year had been plagued with death and darkness, and the students had all been forced to mature beyond their years and much faster than many could take. They had had very little distraction, very little of anything beyond news of increasing violence and strange deaths and the arduous, never ending schoolwork. The increased defence against the dark arts and potions classes in order to prepare the students for war and try to teach them to defend themselves in some small way, had eliminated the time and valuable resources needed for other, more entertaining but less useful classes. That was what the school board had said, but Dumbledore was concerned that without anything to distract them, anything creative where they could forget about the hard facts of day to day life and focus on the beauty that could be found all around them.

That was why Dumbledore had a plan to bypass the school board and sneak in a little inspiration, something to brighten up a dreary year and give the students the chance to have a little fun. With the help of Miss Alexandra Lorrel, the schools only non-magical teacher and the head of the arts department, everything was set up and ready to go. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In less than a moment, the whole student population gathered that lunchtime was completely silent, all eyes fixed on the lone figure now standing at the head table in the Great Hall. Dumbledore stood proudly before everyone, his back straight and his arms raised to command the attention of all the students seated below him.

"Good afternoon girls and boys," His voice was strong and calm and, by aid of a little magic, carried to every corner of the hall, "I feel the time is right for a little excitement in all of our lives and so I have decided that we are going to have a little competition . . ." Here Dumbledore paused, a lopsided grin lighting his wrinkled face and a mischievous twinkle appeared in his worn blue eyes, " . . .an art competition." His lips twitched as the crowd erupted into a cacophony of murmurs and whispers, only continuing when silence once more returned. "All entries must be returned a month from now, when the winner will be judged and the prize of 100 house points will be awarded. Every student is eligible to enter and all mediums will be accepted. The only rule is you must paint, sculpt, or draw something that inspires you. . .oh . . and, most importantly, HAVE FUN!" with a grin Dumbledore seated himself and a moment later students from every house were chattering at the top of their voices, so many different conversations but all with a common topic. Unfortunately, Afternoon classes were due to begin only minutes later, so frantic whispers were exhanged all along the many corridors, but the real discussions were sure to start later, when young minds were free from the terror of late Potions assignments, lost Transfiguration books and the all important question which staircase would lead to the History of Magic class *today*?               

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

That night the three friends sat around the roaring golden fire, all seated in huge squishy armchairs that matched the rest of the cosy common room and the fire itself, bright and warm red and gold everywhere they looked. Harry sat curled in the chair closest to the fire staring dreamily into space while he listened with half an ear to yet another heated discussion between his two best friends. 

"Isn't it wonderful, Harry? This competition is a chance for us all to experience something a little different, to extend our academic horizons and broaden our minds. Not to mention, I'm sure participating in this kind of extra-curricular activity would be a plus on any college of job application, don't you think so? As well as the fact that . . . " Hermione continued to rattle on in a wistful, almost blissful voice as Harry tuned her out with little difficulty, instead staring fixedly at the dancing flames, consciously blanking his mind as the thought contained there in began to chase themselves around and around in a ceaseless and dizzying circle.    

"pphhhh" Ron cut in with his classic derisive snort, "Don't be a twit Hermione, what ponce would be caught dead entering an art competition? He'd look like a right git wouldn't he, 'Arry? Though we could do with the house points if the Quidditch team don't do so well this year, I really have a bad feelin' 'bout the new captain, he just can't measure up to Wood. . . .now *he* was a captain, wouldn't ya say 'Arry? . . . . . 'Arry?"

When both of their speeches failed to arouse a response from raven-haired boy before the, Ron and Hermione looked at each other in consternation and simultaneously,  with an identical note of frustration, yelled . . 

"**HARRY!?!?!**" 

With a guilty jump, a pair of wide emerald eyes tore themselves away from the absorbing fire and resignedly focused on Harry's two, by now quite annoyed, friends. "Oh . . um, sorry . . .what did you say?"

Before Ron could start in on some long winded discussion of the highlights of  "Quidditch Throughout the Ages", Hermione cut him off with a tender, "are you sure you're alright Harry? You don't seem yourself at all."

Dragging up a confident smile from somewhere, Harry plastered it on his face and replied "I'm fiiiiiiinnnneeee Hermione! Really you do worry too much, now *what* were you saying?" Harry finished with an encouraging smile and genuinely tried to listed to what his friends had to say . . .at least until he could make his escape.

"Well if your sure," Hermione acceded with a small smile and a confused look, "We were talking about how great this competition is going to be . . ."

This time it was Ron who interrupted another long speech "No Hermione - *You* - were talkin' about how great this competition is gonna be, *I* was saying that any git who entered that nancy *art* competition would have to be right poof. And *I* wouldn't enter even if you blindfolded me, tied my hands behind my back and forced me to spend the night in the Forbidden Forrest look for giant spi – anyway I won't be enterin' _anything_, and I'm sure 'Arry won't either, will you 'Arry?" He turned to the boy with an expectant look, perhaps expecting something a little more definite than what he got.

Shaking himself, Harry gazed at them a little dazedly. "Wh . .oh, um . . offcourse not, why w-would I want to do that?" Harry just managed to save himself with a cocky little grin and continued gamely on, "But I'll tell you what I *do* want to do, and that's go to bed! Gods I'm tired!" he topped it off with a clearly faked yawn but was on his way up the stairs before anyone could protest. As he closed the door to his room, the last thing he heard was the now almost comforting sound of his friends bickering like an old married couple . . . 

_ . . . "You just can't paint, Ron. *You're* afraid that you'll embarrass yourself in front of the Whooooollleee Schoooooolll, heh and you'd probably be right" . . ._

_ . . . "Suuuurreee Hermione, that's it. You've been *just* a little *too* interested in all this girly stuff since that Lockheart git got his claws into you, if you ask me."_

_ . . . "First of all Ron, I *didn't* ask you and second . . . . I *am* a girl . . ."_

_ . . ."Oh . .right . .sorry bout that . . . ."_

_Sighing, Harry congratulated himself yet again on getting his own room.    _        

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco Malfoy perched on the edge of an ancient mahogany armchair, his back stiff as he surreptitiously moved closer to the flaring green fire that gave off so little heat that it was barely worthy of the name. Draco was distracted for some unknown reason, though he kept it well hidden from the two idiots seated before him, which wasn't exactly a . . . difficult task. Crabbe and Goyle were not even discussing something *mildly* interesting . . . something about how many snot flavoured Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured beans you could eat before throwing up . . . . or something like that. Deciding to make the best of what he had, Draco endeavoured to start a *real* conversation.   

"Well I once had 35 and . . ."

Draco simply cut Goyle (or was it Crabbe?) off. He couldn't have been about to say anything interesting anyway. "So what do u think about this competition that Dumbledore's started?"

For a long moment both the lackeys stared at each other in bafflement. Then one bravely ventured, "What . .? The . . . *Art* competition?"

When Draco only sighed a long suffering sigh and rolled his eyes heavenward, they took this as a yes and looked at each other, nodding, because they knew what to say now. 

"Heh! An *ART* competition???? What pansy would enter one of those? He'd have to be totally barmy!!!" chuckling to themselves moronically they failed to notice Draco's wry smirk, but it did register however when Draco stood suddenly in a display of his trademark fluid grace and started to walk away.

"Wait! . . . Where are you going????" 

Draco smirked over one shoulder and didn't even bother to stop. "I need my beauty sleep, you don't think having a face like this is easy, do you?" When the imbeciles failed to grasp the joke and just looked at each other strangely, Draco shook his head and simply said, "Go and annoy some 1st years, I'll see you in the morning." Opening the door to his privet room Draco whispered to himself, _"If I'm *un*lucky."_  

Once again missing the last part, Crabbe and Goyle lumbered off with matching moronic grins. Terrorise little children? They could do that. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC – The decision.. 

A/N – I'd like to thank my fantastic beta who is trying to fit me in around all the other things she has to do.

A/N2 – I'm on summer holidays right now (yes I'm not crazy, I'm just an Australian =P) so I've got a good 2 moths and a lot of ideas to share with you

A/N3 – I'm only 13 years old . . .J pleeeaassee R/R I nead the encouragement   


	3. the decisions

Rating: probably Pg:13 might get up to an R

Pairing: yeah id b really surprised if you didn't no by now (especially since its in the summery lol) yup HARRY/ DRACO all the way baby

Main characters: Harry P, Draco M

Summary: it's 7th year and two people are in love, but neither know it.  They both have one last chance. Will they take it?

Feedback: plz plz plz plz plz plz plz if you read it tell me what you think???? I REALLY need the encouragement =P thanx muchly   

Thanks to: Shadowslight, Fanny_chan (arigato. Fanny chan wa totemo kawaii desune. – sorry my romanji is truelly horrendous =P), Kristina, Emma and JadeDragon, who all reviewed my first chapter. Enjoy – I hope J  

A/N whoa this was turning into a long-ass chapter so I split it up . .but hey that means u get 2 chapters for the price of one – lucky you J . . .hmmm and there a whoooolllee lot more to go  . . hmmm

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**~ A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words ~**

Harry lay in his enormous bed all alone, alternately staring blankly at the ceiling and tossing and turning, taking out his pointless frustration on his hapless pillows. But nothing would help, he already knew what the problem was, his mind was alive and jumping all over the place, chasing its own tale around inside his head, obsessed with an idea. An image. A person. 

_Ahhhhh Draco. My love. My secret. My shame._

Resignedly Harry turned on the light and propped himself up against a nice bank of pillows. If he was going to be awake and thinking all night, he would rather not do it in the dark. Sighing, Harry gave in to his insistent, obsessive thoughts and tried to get comfortable.

_ . . . sunlight creating a bright halo around hair pale as moonbeams . . ._

Draco was simply the pinnacle of perfection, like a fallen angel, as cold and bright . . .and as distant, unattainable . . . as the moon. What man was crazy enough to fall in love with the moon? He might as well give his heart to the chair; it would be as welcome and probably get the same reaction. Draco was beautiful, a tall, lean sculptured physique, an almost feline grace, an agile mind, a courageous soul, as pale and pure, as cool, calm and mysterious as the heavenly body Harry glimpsed through the open window. What would a creature like that want with a scrawny, confused and flawed boy, with glasses, hair with a mind of its own and just an average intelligence? . . . nothing . . . maybe a toy to laugh at, to play with its fragile emotions . . . but perhaps that was better than nothing.       

_ . . . ice blue eyes, quicksilver alive with intelligence and mischief, sparkling with the sweet thrill of a challenge, dancing with hidden laughter . . . _

Harry saw those rare moments, perhaps because he was the only one who really looked, he saw when the real Draco shone through, he glimpsed the emotions broiling behind those implacable silver orbs, the laughter, the intelligence, the interest he hid from the world, he understood that Draco was really two very different people, the person who went out to meet the world, who protected his true self from everyone and everything that might dare to touch him. 

_ . . . a young boy reaching out the hand of friendship only to be cruelly rebuffed . . ._

Harry still remembered that day so long ago now, they day that had really changed his life so much. He was glad that he had friends like Ron and Hermione, but he would probably always lament Draco's lack of anyone to confide in, to trust, to love and be loved by, he still wished that the events of that first day had not transpired quite as they had, wished for some sort of third choice, where he could have Draco *and* his other friends, even as he knew it was futile. He just wished he could have been there for Draco for all the times he was hurt, to stop him all the times he tried to pull a little more inside himself, to share every joy and success, to love him as he deserved to be loved, to just  . . . be . . . with him for all those moments that no one remembered, the moments that were really non moments, just sitting companionably before a warm fire, swimming in the lake in summer, whispering and giggling at midnight in the dark of a dorm room, he wished with all he was to just be with him for the past, the present and the future . . . forever.      

_ . . . cold shutters drawing closed, shinning blue eyes growing dull and distant, an almost visible mask dropping into place, thoughts and feelings forever hidden from the callous world and all the people who could hurt him . . . _

Every time Draco turned away from the world, Harry felt the pain as his own, a dull throbbing in his chest, a tightness in his throat and a strange burning behind his eyes, every time he saw Draco die a little, take another step from the path to his own greatness and let the darkness in just that little bit more, every time that Draco closed in on himself and Harry was powerless to change a thing. He was so useless, everything he did only caused problems, everyone who got close to him got hurt . . . there was nothing he could do.  

_ . . . fierce concentration, the single minded focus, the dedication to anything he set his mind to . . ._

Harry saw that dedication in everything Draco did, dreamed of a day when that focus would be directed at him, when he could be foremost in Draco's thoughts . . . and then he woke-up  . . . to the cold reality where Draco never spared him a thought and his feelings mattered about as much as a house-elf's. Sometimes he let himself dream that they could have a chance, that Draco might feel the same way . . . but that's all it was . . . foolish dreams.      

_ . . . growing, changing, evolving in the face of adversity, struggling to find a sense of self something to be his and only his, when every one saw exactly what they wanted, not caring who he was inside . . .    _

He looked on with so much pride, more than Draco's own father probably felt, he watched as Draco struggled against his destiny, tried to become a good person, someone who could hold their head up high and have pride in his achievements. Harry watched, and he despaired, for how could someone like that settle for a person like him?    

_ . . . a look burning hate and fury gradually changing  to one of cold indifference, shadowed, haunted, by something  . . . more? . . .      _

Those first few years, the hate had wounded him, every time those angry eyes looked into his own, he saw the hurt little boy inside crying out for someone to help him HELP HIM! And he felt as if someone twisted the knife into his heart just a little bit more. Those first years had hurt, but the following had almost killed him. No emotion, no anger, no pain, just a blank, impenetrable façade, that little boy locked away somewhere deep inside. Every now and again Harry would get a strange feeling, he would turn and find himself face to face with his love and, if he was lucky, he might see something, a wisp of some stray emotion, something that momentarily burned in those silver eyes a warmth like a physical caress, and then he would shake himself and be left with just a cruel smirk and dead eyes, left with just a memory to keep him warm.

But the question that tormented Harry day and night, the only thing that really kept him going was . . . did, *could* Draco return his feelings? Did those fleeting looks mean something? Was Harry in fact damning his own love by denying it? Was Draco actually thinking the very same thoughts as himself? Every time Harry kept his silence, did he hurt Draco a little bit more, could he be destroying the one he loved just because he was so very spineless?

Harry could no longer live in this constant state of confusion, it was tearing him apart, and people were starting to notice . . .

_ . . . "Are you sure you're alright, Harry? You don't seem yourself at all." . . ._

But that was just the problem, he was acting too much like himself, his true self. He had to know how Draco felt, he had to tell Draco how *he* felt. Maybe he could . . . show Draco how he felt . . . he had to find a way to show Draco how he felt, without putting his heart on the line . . . 

Harry made a passable imitation of Ron's derisive snort and fought the urge to slap himself, How was he supposed to convince Draco, the most distant person on earth, to show his feelings, when Harry himself didn't have the guts to take a little risk. 

He would do anything to get Draco. He would even embarrass himself in front of the whole school if he had to, if he had to look like a git to get his point across then so be it . . .

 . . . " What ponce would be caught dead entering an art competition? He'd look like a right git wouldn't he, 'Arry?" . . .     

If anyone had walked into the room at that moment they would have been in for quite a surprise. The famous Harry Potter sitting in his huge bed, rumpled covers in disarray around his waist, Chudley Cannons zooming all over his bright orange P.J's, his eyes wide with shock, his mouth gaping like a fish.   

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco sat in his equally lonely bed on the other side of school, way past the point of even attempting to get any sleep. In fact Draco really hadn't got any solid sleeping for years, since the arrival in his life of a Mr. H. Potter, brave, intelligent, beautiful, loyal and all around good guy. Draco sat at his desk, as he did most nights, writing yet another lovelorn Journal entry _(yes! Draco Malfoy had a journal. J.O.U.R.N.A.L *not* a diary, only girls had diaries, thank you very much)_ Draco had long ago come to terms with his obsession and accepted that unless totally exhausted he could not sleep, that's why he had started his journal, a way to tire him without letting everyone in Slytherin know that he was an insomniac. Well, that's how it had started, but now he found himself relishing the dark hours, the only time when he could indulge his fantasies and his dreams, when he could accept that he was in love with the Great and Powerful Harry Potter, saviour of the world and the only time when he could allow himself to picture what it would be like to be loved in return. All this he wrote down on paper, like a ritual, a cleansing of the soul, purging himself of his weak emotions. 

_. . . Walking down a lonely, cold corridor, feeling the tender brush of fingers against the back of his neck, turning to find a pair of shining emerald eyes, wordlessly imparting comfort, trust and love before a cheeky smile appears and is followed by the teasing brush of soft lips, a joyful, carefree laugh, a whispered "I love you"  . . ._

Harry was an angel, a pure soul, someone who loved and trusted instinctively. How could he ever be satisfied with the twisted shell that was all that remained of the real Draco Malfoy. But, he hoped, if anyone could bring that person back, it would be Harry, maybe some of that perfection would rub off on him and he could once again inhabit the world of the living, could once again call himself a human being and be worthy of the name. Every word of love, of encouragement spoken from those lips would heal him and in return he would love to the point of obsession, he really was deluding himself if he thought he wasn't already at that point, he would do anything and everything in his power to give Harry a life of happiness, he would change, he would become a better man, he would become anything that Harry needed, if only he could have that light in his life, the love he so desperately needed.

How he longed for a love like that. A love that was so strong it showed itself in every thing one did, every decision a person made, a love that became that became the backbone of your existence, that touched every part of your soul and lit up the dark places, chased away that insidious darkness and left in its place only warmth and light. The kind of love that lasted for eternity, that went down in history, the stuff of legends. The kind of love that Draco Malfoy could never have. The kind of love that Harry Potter embodied. The kind of love that could never eventuate between a Potter and a Malfoy, would be doomed forever, but the kind of love that might be heaven on earth for Harry and Draco.        __

_ . . . A bright little house, somewhere surrounded by peaceful glades, rolling hills, swaying trees and calm lakes, a warm, cosy room, plenty of comfortable chairs and a roaring fire. He and Harry curled around each other sharing the overstuffed couch, talking about everything, sometimes sitting in silence for hours on end, calm and content in each other's company, sometimes sharing warm kisses and whispered words of love. Happy. Peaceful. Loving and being loved in return . . . _

He really didn't care if Harry saved the world, only wished he would save Draco, so that Draco could be the person to save the saviour. The person to be there when Harry needed someone to confide in, someone to support him, someone to protect him from the danger in life and show him all that was good, perhaps they could discover it together. Draco wished he could be everything Harry needed, and knew that Harry would be the same in return. 

Draco dreamed of a future where those moments where frequent, where he was confronted with evidence of love and happiness every day, the moments that every true romantic treasured. The quite moments when you realised just how much you needed this, needed the love, needed the lover. The moments, the kisses, the endearments that just made you fall a little bit more in love every time. A future where falling in love even more only made you happier, only serve to cement your relationship instead of engendering this strange, twisted mixture of fear and disgust that he was faced with, a lonely hopeless kind of feeling that made him want to die, made him want to cry because he was so powerless to change anything. Every time he fell in love a little more, a part of his soul shrivelled up and the darkness crept closer, for with no hope of being returned, this kind of love could kill him, but he wouldn't change it for the world.             

_ . . . Two old men wrapped in each other's arms, smiling fondly as they reminisce about their long lives together, about the joys and the sorrow, happy because they shared it all together. Watching the sunrise and thanking the gods for another day spent together. Content if they were to die tomorrow because of all the beautiful yesterdays they've had . . . _

Draco blinked his eyes slowly, crystal tears falling from his burning eyes to run with the ink, making tiny rainbows of colour swirl amidst his heart rending words on the parchment. This was a sacred dream, something he could never have but would be forced to spend his eternity of a pointless, miserable, despairing life yearning for. The ultimate goal. The ultimate reward. A life of love and happiness, ultimately unattainable.  

Harry could never love Draco, and so he could never know how much he was loved.

If Harry ever found out how much Draco loved him, there was no telling what he would do, he could go mad, he could get violent, he could tell the world . . . . . 

 . . . He could return the sentiment . . .                         

Draco paused, his quill hovering over the parchment, an idea occurring to him. He had never even thought about it before, the possibility that Harry was just as scared as he was, just as unsure, that Harry might be hiding just like Draco, hiding the same secrets somewhere deep inside. Draco almost tore the page to pieces in frustration. 

How was he supposed to know????? 

But how was Harry supposed to know his every thought and feeling, to know of his eternal love. How was Harry supposed to know if Draco couldn't tell him, if he couldn't show him that he was safe, that he could his trust his heart to a Malfoy, at least this particular Malfoy, and come away unscathed?

It was all very well to hypothesise but how was he supposed to *show* Harry how much he loved him? He couldn't just walk up and say "Well, well, well Potter it seems its your lucky day. You have my heart now what are you going to do with it?" . . . 

_"yes, im sure *that* would gain me his undying love" _Draco thought with a self deprecating smirk.

Sighing he lay down his quill and prepared to climb into bed for yet another restless night. Putting away his journal in the secret compartment in his desk, he stumbled over to the green-silk-covered monstrosity that was his resting place, his heart as heavy as lead in his chest and his legs dead weights beneath him. Reaching for the covers, a small  . . . pink . . . piece of paper caught his eye. _(Pink??)_. Curious despite himself, Draco snatched the offending parchment and flopped, in a very un-draconian move, down onto his bed.

With eyes round and owlish, and an idea slowly forming in his mind he read – 

"The First Annual Hogwarts Art Festival" "All participants welcome" 

**_"Grand prize of 100 house points"_**

****

Charitably putting aside his plans for eviscerating the unfortunate fool who had dared to enter into his sanctuary, Draco cleared the way for one of his most brilliant plans to date. His silver eyes glowing with hidden fire, the parchment clutched victoriously in one fist, a slow smile spread across his porcelain features . . .      

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 . . . . . . Two different rooms . . . . . .

 . . . . . Two different bodies . . . . . 

 . . . . Two different minds . . . . 

One rapturous thought

_"It's perfect!"_

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC – the inspiration

A/N thanx muchly – R/R I LOVVVEEE U 

A/N2 – that was a very depressing chapter to write mmmmm teary eyed me . . . .so im gonna go looking for some happys soon . . . I promise . . its around here somewhere . . .soon . . .=D dw!


	4. the revelations

Rating: probably Pg:13 might get up to an R

Pairing: yeah id b really surprised if you didn't no by now (especially since its in the summery lol) yup HARRY/ DRACO all the way baby

Main characters: Harry P, Draco M

Summary: it's 7th year and two people are in love, but neither know it.  They both have one last chance. Will they take it?

Feedback: plz plz plz plz plz plz plz if you read it tell me what you think???? I REALLY need the encouragement =P thanx muchly   

Thanks to: always, AmZ, Fanny_chan (once again =)), SoulSister, Aezy and Gemdiamond who reviewed my 2nd & 3rd chapters - Enjoy – I hope J  

Thanx to 2: specially 2 AmZ heheheh that is sooooo sweet, thanx very muchly

In gerneral – I love all my reviewers =D you cant no how much ur reviews brighten my day, really, ppl tend to look at me a little strangely when I dance around the room huggin myself . . but its worth it =D

Also this hasn't been beta'd one again I am terribly sorry but I cant do anything else until I get this story out of me. I give up sleep to write just so that I can get some . . if that makes any sense therefore in my efforts to get this out as fast as possible, it hasn't been beta'd . . my apologies please don't hold it against the fic . . =P it isn't its fault I'm obsessed. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**~ A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words ~**

The next morning Harry awoke, his resolve strong and his flagging faith supported by his abiding love. He would convince Draco to reveal his emotions, to open up to the emerald-eyed boy at all costs. Nothing would stop him in his search for true love. Harry was hunting for that most elusive emotion where it was so deeply buried that it almost disappeared altogether, and as all good hunters know, knowing your prey is the key to ultimate success and succeed he would. In an effort to learn all he could, Harry would spy, he would lie, he would hide and he would and let Draco inside . . . well so far as he could still keep a little back, he couldn't have Draco catching onto his original, ingenious plot before it had a chance to come to fruition now could he?

Almost springing from the soft mattress and clinging bed covers that seemed to beckon him back to the land of dreams, Harry dressed in record time, a secretive smile lighting his face with soft fire, a fire that for the first time shone for all the world to see, although not necessarily to understand, and caused quite a few comments throughout the day, some confused and some suggestive. A passionate fire that also caused quite a few hearts to flutter that day and the days to follow, not just female hearts, not just male hearts either but  . . . draconian too. 

   *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco sauntered confidently into the great hall, his usual feline grace automatically masking the emotional tumult of the previous night and the resulting exhaustion. In fact, Draco deemed none the worse for wear, his steps seeming to glide along the stone floor as if walking on air. And perhaps he was; his head was certainly in the clouds. As half the school watched in fascination, drawn to the magnetic, focused, charged and undoubtedly positive atmosphere that seemed to almost shimmer around him, he graced them all with a charming, almost feral grin, his eyes travelling an instinctive path across the people gathered for breakfast that fine morning. 

He noted Pansy Parkinson smirking nastily and snickering to her brainless friends whispering something, doubtless along the lines of "*someone* got lucky last night" and without even pausing tipped her a knowing wink and turned away, completely ignoring anything she might have to say to that. Unfortunately, Draco turned only to find himself the frightening face of Professor McGonagall, the expression on said face some strange mixture of "I know your up to something" and what could only be her own brand of a come-hither stare. Mr. Malfoy chose that as the appropriate moment to execute a military-precision about turn and found himself once again confronted with an alarming image, though not quite the same *kind* of alarming. Draco felt his calm façade of control start to waver as a single bead of sweat trickled its way past his right eye. This was bad, really bad . . .

In the process of turning on one heel to make a quick, smart exit, *The* Draco Malfoy stumbled and almost fell flat on his disbelieving face. His roaming eyes had caught and snagged on the vision before him. His heart beat out a rapid, stuttering tattoo and his hands shook with barely covered effort as he restrained himself by the barest thread of what remained of his tenuous, much vaunted control. Barely restrained himself from shocking the whole congregated school by simply striding over to the gorgeous boy currently lounging at the Gryffindor table and kissing the satisfied expression from his glowing features. 

Unaware that the expression so blatantly displayed on the face of one Harry Potter was an exact replica of his own, not five minutes before. All Draco could think of was his resolution the previous night to win the boy over with his superlative artistic talent and sweeping romantic gestures, all he could think of was the fact that *he* was the only person allowed to make Mr. Harry Potter grin like the proverbial cat who caught the canary, the unbelievable fact that *someone* had obviously beaten him to it (because someone did *not* just get an expression like that by themselves) and the equally obvious fact that that same *someone* would now have to die . . .because no one, NO ONE, touched something that belonged to Draco Malfoy. And Harry Potter *did* belong to him, even if he didn't know it yet.

A fire burned within him, a roaring, destructive, utterly consuming inferno that burned its way painfully up from the very depths of his soul to pour forth from his eyes, scolding any who dared to look upon him, momentarily turning eyes the colour and hardness of diamonds to molten gold, burning and spitting sparks of intense emotion, a pale reflection of that which burned within, the fire of possessive, jealous rage fuelled by the fury of love scorned.

Draco stormed from the hall, leaving the ancient oak doors to swing shut with furious thunder and hundreds of surprised faces to gape in astonishment behind him. If anyone asked him later, Draco would simply say he was an artist, or at least was *going* to be an artist, and he had a suitably fiery artistic temperament. Who cares what they thought. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry was the first to react. He jumped up from the table, cutlery clanging to the floor as he sprinted to the still swinging doors and out, after his elusive prey, earning yet more strange looks from the people remaining behind. This was his chance, Draco was obviously upset for some reason and he *had* to know what that reason was, so he would follow him, he would observe and hopefully he would get some inspiration, something to help him decide how to win Draco's affections, learn something that would tell him what kind of painting would find its way to the dragons heart and light the path for Harry to follow. That, and he was curious, what, or who, was powerful enough that it could breach the walls and touch Draco in such a away, could force him to such a violent display of usually absent emotion.

And how could he destroy that thing. How he could obliterate, how he could eviscerate, how he could ANNIHILATE _that thing_. Destroy whatever it was he would because no one, *nothing* was allowed to hurt Draco like that. He simply would not allow it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco ran blindly through the stone corridors and out into the light of day, tears blinding his passage as he stumbled in his haste to get away. Away from everything, away from it all, away from the pain and the humiliation and the love that just would not quit, the love that stayed firmly lodged at the very centre of his being even though he felt as if the rest of himself crumbled around it. The love that had become his pillar of strength, a love that whispered to his courage, that gave him hope of something more, a love that weakened under the strength, the sheer quantity of his doubts but still vainly fought on, branding him as a coward for denying it.

His stumbling, wild flight came to a stop as he contemplated that thought. Not even noticing where he came to rest, Draco became as still, as silent as the towering, ancient trees that surrounded him, he stood motionless in the centre of a beautiful serene clearing, the sun shining down upon his fair head unable to break through the dark clouds of emotion that obscured his vision.

A coward . . . 

He was Draco Malfoy . . . *anything* but a coward . . .

And GODS DAMN IT if he would *EVER* become one. 

He may have been a slave to love, but he would *never* let a . . . minor setback . . . change his life, his plans.

Draco Malfoy would emerge from his trials victorious. As ever. Damn anyone or anything that _dared_ to stand in his way.

With a last surge of anger Draco cursed the gods – 

"ITS NOT FAIR! DAMN YOU! WHY? **WHY!?!?!?!?!?!?"**

And finally he cursed his beloved for not returning his love, for being cold and cruel, and for not knowing it.

Tears streaming freely down his pale cheeks Draco screamed, screeched himself hoarse with all the pain in his tortured heart. 

**"DAMN YOU HARRY POTTER!!!!! BUT I *WILL* GET YOU!!!"**

Finally breaking down, Draco collapsed, his knees buckling beneath him, he lay on the soft, mossy grass in the sunshine and cradled his aching head in his hands. Sobbing he whispered brokenly, "W-why does it have to-to . . . *hurt*, oh *gods*! why does it have to Hurt. So. Much???" . . . 

Sighing with exhaustion, he scrubbed cruel hands against the burning in his eyes and whispered softly to himself, "Harry. My love. Why? . . ." looking up almost accusingly at the trees ringing him, Draco growled "You *will* be mine Potter."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry followed Draco's haphazard progress through the school and out onto the lawns, he ran to keep up as Draco entered the forest, his heart wrung with fear, anger and love. 

Fear for Draco, could whatever had happened finally accomplish what years of brutality at the hands of his father and his own peers could not? Could one incident finally destroy Draco Malfoy? Fear for his fragile heart, his battered soul, his much abused sanity and fear . . . for his life. Could Draco finally be pushed so far as to take his own life, to end his existence? Harry was unsure where Draco was heading, and he suspected that not even Draco himself knew where he was going, what he doing and that was *exactly* why Harry was so anxious to keep up, if anything happened to Draco, he  . . . he didn't know what he would do, how he could survive that . . . and so with unshakable logic, he reasoned that he would simply not _let_ *that* happen. If Draco decided to try anything, he would find himself with a lap-full of a whole lot of determined seventeen year old. No one could harm Draco, not even Draco himself.

Anger. A towering fury that raged against the world, against everyone and everything that had ever even *attempted* to harm Draco in anyway. Anger against the father that had tortured Draco all his years, emotionally crippling him, sometimes even physically crippling him for short periods, Anger against a world that gave him that *creature* as a father, a world that said essentially his love was wrong, a crime against god and nature, and against the people of that world, the people small minded enough to believe that, cruel enough to stereotype, to vilify and condemn without taking a Good. Hard. Look at themselves first. Anger against fate, against "destiny" both his and Draco's, a seething, fuming hatred for anything that tried to keep them apart, to keep him from his rightful place at Draco's side, together, forever. 

An finally an all-encompassing love overwhelmed every other puny, paltry emotion, that soothed and calmed, that gave him the strength to suppress all of his other emotions in the face of Draco's pain, in order to help him. The fear and the anger would keep, keep until the time was right to exact retribution, until he would swoop down on all that dared to cause his beloved pain and make them wish that he had never been the Boy Who Lived, for not even Voldemort could be worse than what he would do, love might forgive all but all of Harry's other, baser, primitive emotions demanded he protect and defend his mate.

Finally reaching the place where Draco had come to a stop, halting himself at the waves of pain radiating of the silent figure in the middle of the beautiful glade. His breath caught, he was struck dumb, motionless he stared, his eyes riveted to the statue-like figure before him. Before Harry could even think to move, the pain was replaced by a wave of fury, so hot that it burned, so cold that it made him quake in fear.        

"ITS NOT FAIR! DAMN YOU! WHY? **WHY!?!?!?!?!?!?"**

Harry felt it like a dagger to the heart, an almost physical pain that winded him and nearly brought him to his knees. Hot tears prickled his eyes as he silently hugged himself, unable to face the wild thing that Draco had become to go to him and give him comfort, but wordlessly echoing the scream that shook him to his very foundations.   

**"DAMN YOU HARRY POTTER!!!!! BUT I *WILL* GET YOU!!!"**

Harry's arms dropped listlessly to his sides, his mouth open in a silent scream of shock and pain. 

NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO

His head flew in wretched denial. The dagger in his heart twisted painfully, the truth a new, gaping wound, possibly fatal. Even years later, Harry could not remember that next hour or so. Just an impression of darkness, numbness, feeling nothing but his newly fortified heart breaking into a million jagged pieces, and seeing nothing but the recurring image of Draco, tears streaming down his face, damning him to hell.     

Harry had caused Draco's pain.

Draco hated him.

He had no one to blame but himself.

Draco hated him.

Draco could never love him.

Draco hated him.

He had been foolish to believe.

Draco hated him.

He would never trust, never love again.

Draco hated him.

How could he? He had no heart left.

Draco hated him

DRACO HATED HIM

Draco hated him, and Harry didn't no if he could survive it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC 

Oops sorry total absence of happy there it started off promising but mutated somewhere along the line  . . *sigh* o well . . .i promise its coming im not *that* cruel.

Good night every one *yawn* enjoy R/R I hope 


	5. the ancients

Rating: probably Pg:13 

Pairing: yup HARRY/ DRACO all the way baby *sticks out tongue* they're not underage. So there.

Summary: it's 7th year and two people are in love, but neither know it.  They both have one last chance. Will they take it?

Feedback: plz plz plz plz plz plz plz if you read it tell me what you think???? I REALLY need the encouragement =P thanx muchly   

Thanks to: Fanny_chan, Aezy, Shadowslight and Yami no Hikari and eMJay (hehehe u inspired me in my evilness) who reviewed my 4th chap. 

In general – I love all my reviewers =D you cant no how much ur reviews brighten my day, really, ppl tend to look at me a little strangely when I dance around the room huggin myself . . but its worth it =D

A/N – this fic has taken on a life of its own and I wont be held responsible for all the twistings and turnings =P I am just an innocent bystander. 

        - sorry bout the belated update (for me) my muse decided to take a little vacation

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**~ A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words ~**

Even years later, Harry would be unable to explain how he found his way safely back to his room that morning, or how he was able to remain there undetected though out the day without being disturbed or reprimanded for skipping class. Not that any reprimands, or . . . anything really would have been acknowledged that day because, from the moment Harry had returned to the safety of his room, he had collapsed on the bed, entering into a strange kind of catatonic state, his body resting with an appearance of calm serenity that totally contradicted the whirling, screaming shambles of his mind, a vortex of horrible thoughts that chased each other round and round inside his head.

There was no screaming, no crying, nothing was broken and no one was hurt. There was no physical indication of Harry's internal struggle, his soul-crushing, heart-rending, mind-melting pain. And perhaps that was the problem. There was no outlet for the pain, the rage, the grief that slowly built inside him, tearing him apart. He kept it bottled inside, his consciousness turned away from the world, fighting the urge to fight, to flee, to rage and to scream, to do anything to dull the pain, to deal with it in some way. Desperately Harry tried to hold himself together, to gather his fraying sense of self together, to stop everything he thought he was from coming apart at the seams and exploding in a wild, violent expression of his confusion. Harry felt as though the love of his life had died, had left him all alone, taking a part of his soul with him and was now lost to him forever, but Harry refused to let himself grieve, to grieve for what he never had at all.       

He silently battled on until, some time in the middle of the night; his consciousness gave up, surrendered to his impulses and fled from his chaotic thoughts, fled deep inside himself to find some peace. For the first time in his life he shed the cloak of sophistication, the mask of evolved humanity that we all wear and left himself bare, trying to find out who he was and how to deal with his pain, trying to rebuild his shattered self and find a way to go on.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

At the very centre of us all, in that secret, most primitive part of us, there is ancient force, a power, a magic that is a remnant of a time, many millennia ago, when we had no form and simply . . . existed - pure and free. Some call this force the "spirit" or "soul" of a person, something that has existed since before time and will continue to exist, briefly caged in human flesh. No matter what you call it, or if you even choose to recognise it at all, it exists, deep inside us, beneath the layers of consciousness, the most basic self. Trapped in cage of lies and deceit, expectation and belief, rarely reached, barely even noticed. When a person goes deep inside, past what they thought they know of the world and themselves, past all any thought at all, they can sometimes touch that power and in a place where nothing but pure truth resides, they may find the answers they seek.

In an attempt to hide from himself, Harry had come face to face with what he truly was, his simple, exquisite essence and the truth at the base of his soul. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As if in a trance, Harry rose from the bed, his feet sure in the darkness as his hands gathered pristine parchment, something guiding him, no need for the eyes that stared into the distance - glazed and glowing. Harry stood in the middle of his dark room, light from the pale moon ghosting his features with ethereal light. The parchment floating gently in front of him, His hands flew across the unspoiled surface, power shimmering and flowing, radiating from his being. As his hands moved, line, shape and colour was left in their wake, an image forming on the parchment as Harry poured all his pain, his love, his very soul into his creation.

The moment the last stroke was complete, Harry collapsed to the floor, this time lost in a deep, dreamless sleep, the parchment slowly fluttering down to rest on his gently rising and falling chest.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco lay in that grove until the tears dried, his tortured breathing calmed and he was left staring at the glittering stars far above him, their cold light reflecting in his eyes, shining brilliantly with a determination fuelled by possessive love. The leaves fell, the birds sung and the sun made its majestic way through the sky and all of this went unnoticed as Draco planned and plotted. He would win his love over; he would make Harry forget all about his new lover and would claim that passion for himself. Draco would stick to his original plan, because it really was a magnificent plan, he would paint a masterpiece, a picture that embodied his love and portrayed his lover as Draco saw him, as his saviour, as his conscience, as his eternal love. 

Draco rose from the soft, mossy earth and found his way back to the castle in the dark, stumbling drunkenly, an idiotic grin plastered to his pale face. This would work.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco found his way back to The Grove early the next morning, finally taking in the beauty around him. His confident steps muffled by the yielding loam, falling quietly on the mossy, flower-strewn ground Draco walked reverently through the natural entrance way created by two ancient, towering trees, gnarled with centuries of weather and twisted with clinging vines. The morning sun shone through the leafy canopy far above him, illuminating the almost perfectly round clearance before him. Birds of unknown, exotic species twittered and sung enchanting songs, hidden from prying eyes in the upper swaying upper branches of the surrounding trees and jewel bright wild flowers grew in clusters amid the verdant grasses and luxurious mosses that covered the soft earth.

All in all, most people would call this place heaven, but for Draco, anywhere that Harry was . . . that was his own idea of heaven, and sadly Harry was the only thing missing from this beautiful place. Sighing softly, Draco refused to let himself succumb to his miserable thoughts once more and instead focused on the task at hand. Turning abruptly on his heel, Draco returned to the spot, a few steps from the entrance to The Grove, where he had left his supplies, an easel, charcoal and pencils, some expensive parchment and even more outrageously expensive oil paints and various brushes. Any expense was worth the attention and affection of his beloved.

Placing the easel so that it caught the golden-green rays of sunlight, Draco picked up a pencil and brought his hand to rest over the blank parchment. His and hovering, Draco's eyes became unfocused, staring at some random point in the surrounding forest as he searched through the images in his head, desperately sifted through everything he knew and loved about Harry Potter and tried to find the right place to start. His creation had to be perfect, better than that if he wanted to convince his beloved, a man who loved another and barely even recognised Draco's existence, to return his desperate affection.

Determined, he pressed the fine grey-lead to the parchment, gently sketching a line, a curve, a shape that could be called a face, if one had absolutely no artistic vision. Trying with all his might, Draco continued to draw and sketch at the parchment, growing more frustrated and less confident with every too harsh line, every failed attempt to capture the incredible beauty of his subject, the terrifying intensity of his love. Oh, the drawing wasn't _bad_ exactly, in fact it probably would have been a good first piece for a young artist, when Draco finally started to paint, but it was no masterpiece. And that was what Draco needed. Nothing less would suffice.

In frustration, Draco flung the pencil from him to land somewhere in the dense undergrowth, emitting a strangled yell of – 

_"GODS DAMN IT!"_

- and stalked away from the easel. Staring off into the trees with unseeing eyes, Draco ran a shaking hand over his face, trying to retain some of the calm, the determination he previously had an abundance of.  Desperately, he sort inspiration. Something. Anything.

Draco's hands clenched into tight fists, his eyes narrowed and he ground his teeth in barely controlled fury. He just needed a little help, though he was hard pressed to admit it, he didn't have quite the talent for what he needed to create. He needed inspiration. He needed beauty and . . . power. He *really* needed Harry but that would never happen, at least not until the painting was done. Consciously, Draco relaxed every tensed muscle in his lithe form and concentrated on the image of his beloved. Shaking Draco exhaled a long breath, trying to rid himself of all the pent up frustration, born of anger and pain. Clearing his mind of all but the image of Harry, loving and angelic, Draco sent out a plea to the gods he had only just damned, to anyone who might be listening, for inspiration, for a little help, for everything he needed, for anything they could give.   

The gods may not have heard Draco's heartfelt prayer that day, but something did.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As you know, there are forces in the world older than humanity, older than history, older than time itself, these magical, mystical beings have no form but are everywhere around us, we cannot see them, we may not choose to believe in them, but they *are* there. When mortal men and women and all the beasts of the world came into existence, some of these forces were caged in flesh and buried beneath instinct and thought, but not all.

The remaining ancients were forced to roam the newly forming earth in search of shelter, a home, somewhere to exist in secret safety away from the eyes of all mortal creatures. They fled to all the corners of the planet, to all the deep and secret places where they could hide, some journeyed to the bottom of the primordial oceans, some to the caves and pits in the dark mother earth, some to the bright and airy reaches of the sky, to flit among the clouds and some chose the new forests that were growing over the grassy planes to hide among the trees, in the dense undergrowth, in the darkness and shadow.

As man evolved from the animals and continued to grow, to change, he learned to fear the secret places and decided to change the world to suit himself, to banish the ancient magicks, to _modernise_, to _civilise_, to make the world safe and *known*. Over the millennia, humans infiltrated every secret, magic place and almost successfully drove out the ancients, never knowing they really were just cloaks of flesh, hiding the forces deep within themselves. They built ships and fantastic metal contraptions and travelled the seas, they mined and drilled deep into the earth, raping her bounty and plundering all they could, the pitiful flightless creatures built themselves wings of metal and wood to imitate the birds, they cut down the great forests and built their own dwellings, poisoning the earth.

These mortal beings multiplied and spread, the largest plague the world would ever know and where ever they went, they destroyed the sacred places and the ancients were forced to flee. So many were forced from their places, and yet some remained untouched, only in the deepest and most inherently magical places where man feared to tread. Millennia of concentrated ancient magick imbued these places with their own special force, enough to protect the remaining ancients, at least for a while. They were left the deepest, darkest depths of the farthest seas, to deep for man to travel . . . and a forest, just one, a forest like no other that remained on the earth, magical and powerful, almost a living entity in itself. The forest that surrounded Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was this very forest, the last sacred place on land and the home of the most powerful ancients.

These beings had, out of necessity evolved a kind of semi consciousness, enough to protect them from the mortals that might harm them, destroy their place. They cultivated their power, and grew to be able to see inside the hearts and souls of mortal beings, to sense those in tune with their ancient powers. They controlled the living woods around them, wary of all but a select few of the magical folk who lived on their borders. They hid from the inevitable, awaiting the day when they would have no where left to run, no where to hide and no where to exist at all.

The ancients were cold to the plight of man, focused on their own power and the . . . other power that existed in the world. The ancients could only be roused for this power, a power greater than themselves, greater than mortals, greater than everything. Love.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco had but a seconds warning. An impression of something moving towards his, a force, powerful and faster than anything he had ever known, to fast to stop. And then he was surrounded in a blazing light, a warmth that seemed to flood him, sinking to his very bones and beyond, calling to something deep within him. For less than a moment Draco considered struggling, fighting whatever was taking over, but then that thing rushed up from deep within him, two powers meeting and Draco surrendered, not to pain, not to force, but to beauty, to a sense of comfort and love and the fact that he knew, *knew* that his prayers had been answered.

Glowing from within and without, Draco seemed to glide across the mossy ground, the sunlight from far above illuminating his soft hair like a halo about his mesmerised face. He stood before the easel, no hesitation this time, and ran his fingers lightly over the half-drawn lines of the beloved face. Behind his caressing hands, the crude lines turned to brilliant colour, smooth texture and enthralling, subtle shading, the work of a master painter, the work of the heart and soul, Draco's love shone forth from the parchment for all to see. It was beautiful, it was perfect, it was a masterpiece and it was . . . incredibly tiring. Draco poured everything he had into the painting, leaving him animated only by the strange force that was powering him. When the picture was complete, Draco swayed and fell to the ground, his head cushioned on a pillow of yielding earth, as the forces separated, one leaving him completely, flying away to join the shadows and one sinking back deep inside him to lie dormant, unable to sustain Draco on its own, leaving him to topple unceremoniously to the ground, deep in the sleep of the exhausted . . . but satisfied.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC

Mwuahahahahahahahah I really am truely evil (thanku eMJay) 

A/N -  ok just WHOA I really wasn't expecting that . . were u? *shakes head* strange very strange . . wonder whats going to happen next . . .  

        - woo hooo I created my own mythology . . I love it . . .=P it may not make sense but its MINE****


	6. the delusions

Rating: this feels like a Pg:13 

Pairing: yup HARRY/ DRACO all the way baby *sticks out tongue* they're not underage. So there. It *is* slash ppl I cant make that any clearer. Plz if u don't like it – don't read it.

Summary: it's 7th year and two people are in love, but neither know it.  They both have one last chance. Will they take it?

Feedback: plz plz plz plz plz plz plz if you read it tell me what you think???? I REALLY need the encouragement =P thanx muchly   

Thanks to: AmZ(yay), coconut-ice agent h/h (twice woop she's enthusiastic!), Ickle-Wicaa-Girl, and Aezy yet again *applauds loudly and enthusiastically* who all reviewed my 5th chap. 

Disclaimer – hey I realised I don't have one of these . . .did I ever? Hmmm ne way ummm J.K. Rowling gave us all a great gift in lots of cooky characters, especially two hot boys, who like to fall in love and get up to crazy things in their spare time, they aren't mine but my mother always said never look a gifthorse in the mouth, so ill play with them for a while. MERRY CHRISTMAS! HAPPY NEW YEAR! HAPPY HANUKHA (yes I know it was ages ago but ne way . . )!!!! SAFE SOLSTICE and ummm YAY 4 YULE . . . I think ill quit while I'm ahead.     

In general – I love all my reviewers =D you cant no how much ur reviews brighten my day, really, ppl tend to look at me a little strangely when I dance around the room huggin myself . . but its worth it =D

A/N – I thought I had this story cleary marked as slash as in MALE / MALE LUURVE !!!!!! and so any one who chooses to ignore my warnings and attack my writing can take their homophobic arses for a long walk of a short pier. Well that's all I have to say!

- oh and =D thanx muchly to AmZ my . . . hero lol :) this chapie is dedicated to u =P

- the scary thing there is actually quite a bit of this story to go –theres probably gonna b bout 10 chapters. =D hope it stays interesting thanku for reading and reviewing sorry about the major angstiness. 

- oh and hey does ne one no how to remove reviews??? Hmmmm – this is one long-ass authors note . . .

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**~ A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words ~**

He shook his head, wincing as he hit hard stone. An annoying light was burning through his tightly closed eyelids and all of his muscles ached like he'd run a few marathons last night . . oooh . . .and his head was pounding like he'd had *more* than a few too many drinks . . . this was _not_ good, to say the least. Groaning softly, Harry clutched at his aching head, sore eyes blinking blearily open, suddenly confronted by painful amounts of early morning sunshine. Letting out a moan, and then a silent scream as he realised noise made it *worse* (if that was possible), Harry slowly made his way, by touch alone, to the window, pulling closed the red-velvet curtains and immersing himself once more in the blessed darkness. 

Harry crawled back to his spot on the floor, as far as he could move in this state, and clutched a fallen pillow to his tender head, curling around it and giving himself time to return to full consciousness. Belatedly Harry realised three things – 1. It was Saturday. No school, lots of nice recovery time. Ahhhhhhh. 2. . . . He was still fully dressed . . . and couldn't remember . . . why. 3. _Something_ was scratching annoyingly at the oversensitive skin of his arm . . . rather annoying that . . . Lifting one arm weakly to bat whatever it was away, Harry found himself with a fistful of parchment, half-wedged beneath his currently very comfortable shoulder. This would not do at all! Wiggling a little, not enough to upset his throbbing head, Harry gradually worked the parchment free and brought it up before his fuzzy, tired eyes, eyes that widened considerably when he saw what was _on_ that innocent looking piece of parchment.     

Harry sprang back in horror, his headache gone, only to be replaced by memories . . . oh gods he remembered everything.

He sank slowly to the bed, hugging himself as he relived hearing his beloved curse his name, as he remembered the pain, the sensation of his heart breaking into a million pieces . . . but that was all it was . . . a memory . . . somehow the pain wasn't quite as sharp now, and for that Harry could only be eternally grateful. Staring blankly at his lap, Harry realised that he was still clutching the parchment in his shaking hands, reverently he smoothed out the painting, caressing the exquisite representation of his love, something so special, something he had never hoped to have, everything he felt about Draco on parchment. 

Harry felt the long denied tears burning behind his tightly closed lids and swiped angrily at them, dashing away the traitorous moisture. *He* might think it was a beautiful testament to his love, but Draco would probably have a heart attack if he ever saw it . . . 

"Oh dear gods, he hates me!" the anguished, broken sob echoed throughout the cold, stone room.

 . . . He could _never_ let Draco see this. He would only get hurt . . . and Harry didn't know if he could take any more pain. Sighing softly, Harry held the painting to his chest, rocking back and forth like a child, longing for something he could never have. 

He couldn't exactly remember *how* he had created such a beautiful thing, or how he really managed to do anything in the state he had been in, all he had was a vague impression of touching something, something new and yet  . . . very old . . . he remembered learning something . . . something so very important . . . oh gods, what was it . . . something to do with Draco . . . something . . .

_"Gods Damn It!!!!"_

 . . . no he couldn't remember, oh well, it couldn't be that important if he had forgotten it, or if it was, then surely he would remember soon enough. 

But Harry was not totally destroyed at the loss of his last chance, or at least that's what he told himself, he never really had a chance to begin with if Draco hated him. Harry felt that thought as a blow to the heart, gods, he wished he could just love Draco like he deserved, but Draco didn't want that and Harry could not deal with the embarrassment, and even more the hatred and fury that would result if Draco responded badly. All of his courage and confidence was gone in one foul swoop. But at least he still had the painting, something that would keep him warm on the long nights to come, as he loved once more with no hope of love in return.

Fighting for breath against the fear and sadness building inside himself, Harry repeated over and over . . . 

"Be strong. Be strong. be strong. bestrong.bestrongbestrongbestrong . . ."         

Calming his speeding heart and pushing the fears deep inside, Harry reverently placed the painting on his pillow, so that it would be the last thing he saw before he went to bed that night. But it was far from night now and Harry had to start his life, no one knew about his love and no one would understand if he locked himself in his room for months to grieve. As always, Harry had to keep up appearances, put back on the mask and face the light of day. But this time, there would be no hope of salvation.  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco awoke lying spread eagled on the mossy ground, dappled light playing across his closed eyelids, birds serenading from the trees, the scent of wild jasmine and other intoxicating flowers swirling in the warm mid-day sun. All in all it was one hell of a way to wake up. Slowly, Draco sat up on his knees, the faint buzzing in his head a little uncomfortable but nothing he couldn't handle. Stretching luxuriously, Draco heard something in his back crack and sighed contentedly, waking up in painfully slow stages. Blinking owlishly, Draco did a classic double take at the sight that met his disbelieving eyes.

There before him, the easel stood in the middle of the clearing, illuminated and almost glowing in the soft greenish light. Draco was literally stunned, speechless, without words for perhaps the first time in his life. Resting innocently on the easel was a miracle, a masterpiece, an indescribably beautiful work of art that shone with almost tangible emotion. This painting was the physical embodiment of his love, pure and beautiful, simple and yet so very captivatingly complex. It had an enchanting, almost haunting beauty that was the essence of his beloved. It was perfect.

Eyes shining, Draco looked off into the denser forest and sent out a heartfelt prayer of thanks, he may not have remembered the specifics of how he painted it, but he knew that something, or someone, had helped him, had given him hope again. With this, Harry was sure to realise how much Draco loved and needed him and how happy he could be with him. His plan would work and they would . . . live happily ever after . . . although it was a little (ok a lot) clichéd, it was how Draco felt at that very moment. He somehow knew that everything was going to be okay. 

In his excitement, Draco rushed forward to collect the masterpiece and was gone from The Grove in the blink of an eye, away and running to the castle, forgetting all his superior dignity and running flat out with a twinkle in his eyes and a smile on his lips and all who saw his mad dash that day were left to wonder, who was this beautiful person who seemed to resemble the Malfoy they once knew. But that was it exactly, he wasn't "Malfoy", he was Draco, in love and happy, with hope for the first time in too long.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry traipsed down the stairs to the common room, trying to hide his sorrow behind the now brittle mask of happiness. Looking around the room Harry was shocked for a moment, only one other person remained in the enormous red and gold tower room, and she was sitting quietly by the fire, apparently engrossed in a thick volume with the title of "Great Apothecaries Through the Ages", although she kept shooting the occasional curios glance his way through waves of curly brown hair, waiting for him to make his move. 

Hermione. He should have guessed she would be waiting for him when everyone else had gone off to lunch, which was why they weren't here. But Harry was immensely grateful for small mercies, he didn't think his façade could stand up against a mass of concerned friends and prying question. Just one concerned friend would be hard enough. Not making eye contact until he had successfully traversed the room to sit himself down in a huge, squashy chair almost identical to hers, Harry sighed resignedly and decided to get it over and done with as fast as possible. It was like pulling off a bandaid, the faster u did it the less it hurt. He hoped.  

In a friendly sort of voice, with an equally pleasant, and equally fake, smile Harry greeted her, "Hey Hermione, why aren't you at lunch with the others?"

Wide chocolate-brown eyes peeped at him over the top of her book, a small smile spreading across her face. "Good afternoon Harry! Its great to see you up and about" she carefully laid the book down on her lap but when she looked up to meet his eyes again, she had the "Don't-Mess-With-Me-I'm-Your-Friend" face on, and like anyone who really knew Hermione would, Harry shook in fear of what was to come.

"Now Harry, are you going to tell me what this is all about? Why you've been acting so strange lately? Will you _please_ tell me what's upsetting you? I'm your friend Harry, I love you and you know you can trust me with anything. Please . . ."

Normally Harry would have simply made some amusing remark and changed the subject, but the combination of the pain he still felt and Hermione's lethal puppy-dog look and he cracked. "Oh . . g-gods Hermione, I can't take it any more I just cant oh, I . . . " Harry trailed off into broken sobs, finally letting the tears flow and with a confused but tender look, Hermione jumped up and came to cradle him in her arms, rocking back and forth and whispering soothing nothings, trying to comfort her distraught friend as best she could.

"Ohhh, Harry it's alright, I'm here, everything is going to be fiiine, just let it all out, come on, thhaaattttss right, shhhhhhhh" stroking his back gently they rocked back and forth, the room silent but for the heart-wrenching sounds of Harry's sobs.             

Later, when Harry calmed, Hermione tried again to coax his problems out of him, but with no success, Harry was once again hiding behind the mask, and there was nothing she could do but give him assurance that she would always be there if he needed her and when he was ready to talk, she would help him in any way that she could.

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Much later, after everyone had returned from lunch, Hermione realised that she had agreed to meet Ron to study for their end-of-year exams and reluctantly gathered her things, hurrying a little as she was by then quite late, and Hermione was *never* late. Together they walked along the corridor and stood silently, staring at each other when they reached the hall where they would have to part. He refused her kind offer to join both she and Ron, because he didn't want to intrude and also because he felt he needed a little time alone. Shaking, Harry put on a brave front and assured her he would be fine, that he didn't know what had come over him, and thanked her for her friendship. He really loved her - she was his best friend. 

At the last possible moment, Hermione frantically dashed the tears from her eyes, a tremulous smile and a bashful expression on her face. Gods, Harry was the one who had the problem, not her. When he needed her to be strong she get to go and get all mushy on him. But anyway, with a warm feeling deep inside, Hermione dropped her books and crushed Harry in tight hug, whispering that she would always love him and be there for him no matter what. 

After she ran laughing off to class, Harry stood there a few moment, contemplating how lucky he was to have friends like that and then turned to make him slow, lonely way to the gardens for a walk. He needed some time to think, and to come to terms with his fate.

Neither noticed the gasp, or the chocked off sob that seemed to echo in the stone hallway, not even the clear sound of a heart braking, as the accidental observer fled around the corner. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco had flown on wings of love and hope to the castle, prepared to risk all in the hopes of winning Harry's affections from whoever his secret lover was. They were soul mates and a little embarrassment, when he inevitably announced his love to the school, could deter him. As he entered the castle, he was momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the darkness but then set off for his room, anticipation making his steps quick and light. Racing through the hallways, Draco's thoughts were on all his plans for the future and he kept picturing how Harry would react to his public declaration. Dear gods, he hoped Harry could find love inside his heart for one lonely man.

Shaking his head at himself for the sentimental thoughts, Draco turned around the corner, not noticing jus _who_ was standing there before it was too late. He made no noise, quite and still, he watched with wide eyes as Hermione embraced his beloved, and said she loved him. Stumbling back in horror,  Draco saw nothing but the image of that embrace, one of passion and love, taunting him, torturing him, endlessly before his eyes.

Harry's secret lover . . . was Hermione! 

Oh dear gods.

She was smart, beautiful and talented, all things Draco could handle.

But unfortunately _she_ was also female, something could never hope to be.

If that was the kind of person Harry fell in love with . . .then Draco stood no chance. 

His love was doomed and so was he.

Harry would not, could not, ever love him. 

The painting could do no good. It was pointless. It was futile. It was embarrassing. Draco Malfoy had fallen for a boy who would never return his affection and would most probably laugh in his face if he ever found out, that or be violently ill, or just violent.

The painting fluttered from his nerveless grip as he turned on his heel and ran, leaving not just the masterpiece behind, but his heart too - in a million pieces on the floor.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

MWUAHAHAHAHA TBC

There is more . . .what will happen in the next exciting edition of .. A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS 

R/R and ENJOY mon amies! I love you all =D


	7. the dreams

Rating: this feels like a Pg:13 

Pairing: yup HARRY/ DRACO all the way baby *sticks out tongue* they're not underage. So there. It *is* slash ppl I cant make that any clearer. Plz if u don't like it – don't read it.

Summary: it's 7th year and two people are in love, but neither know it.  They both have one last chance. Will they take it?

Feedback: plz plz plz plz plz plz plz if you read it tell me what you think???? I REALLY need the encouragement =P thanx muchly   

Thanks to: Fanny_chan (hehehe that's for me to not know yet and you to find out), bean (heh thanx =D), Aezy (dw! A rainbow always follows the rain), coconut-ice agent h/h (can u tell me bout the name? And lol dw happy ending story) and eMJay (well shucks, sweet talker) LOVE U ALL =D 

In general – I love all my reviewers =D you cant no how much ur reviews brighten my day, really, ppl tend to look at me a little strangely when I dance around the room huggin myself . . but its worth it =D MERRRRRRRY  XMAS!!

A/N – I thought I had this story clearly marked as slash as in MALE / MALE LUURVE !!!!!! and so any one who chooses to ignore my warnings and attack my writing can take their homophobic arses for a long walk of a short pier. 

- as long as this liddle plot bunny don't get sidetracked, then WE R IN HAPPYVALLEY NOW KIDDIES lol yup I'm pretty sure the agnstiness is behind us. The boys FINALLY get a clue in the chappies to come but um maybe not in this one . . .lol sorry. *shakes head* finally.

- Oh and if ne one is looking for a little respite from angst, I'm writing a comedy called Cupid Gone Crazy in which Neville turns into cupid and the usual chaos ensues! Enjoy! 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**~ A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words ~**

That night was unnaturally still, all the sounds of small animals, of the wind, everything hushed as if the night itself was holding it's breath, anticipating . . . something. There was not a cloud in the sky and the stars shone like diamonds on black velvet. The full moon hung low and heavy in the sky, watching over the world and casting a pale, surreal glow on the shadowed grounds of the castle. All the inhabitants of Hogwarts castle lay fast asleep in their beds, tucked up safely and oblivious to the ancient power that made the air thick and cloying, tingling and sparking with magic . . . not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse . . . but _something_ was about that night.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry's pale form lay tangled in the heavy bed covers, arms and legs sprawled in all different directions, tossing and turning and only managing to twist himself deeper into the muddled mess his bed had become. The moon shone through a break in the velvet curtains around him, illuminating his fevered face with a white glow. Harry's head tossed on the pillow, his raven hued silken hair feathering out across the pristine white linen. His eyes screwed tightly shut; Harry was making strange strangled mewling noises, his body restless and fidgeting as his fevered mind lost itself in the land of dreams . . . 

_ . . . He was lost. He had become confused and lost his way in a land of so many twisting roads, dead ends, unexpected turnings and unknown dangers. He was lost in a vast and lonely maze of towering black stone, a blood red sky hung low above him, no sun to show him the way just an eerie, shimmering mist. From beyond the walls he could hear *things* scritching and scratching, sometimes he caught glimpses of strange creatures, slimy hands, sharp claws, beady eyes, staring at him from cracks in the obsidian walls, from dark holes in the uneven ground beneath his feet. _

_The heat was oppressive and seamed to cling to him, slowing him down as he ran, stumbling and stuttering around corners and over bumps and humps in the uneven stone ground, weeds pooping up in his path to trip him, tumbling to scrape a knee or an elbow, mind numbed by the pain and fear of the unknown. And yet as he ran a chill wind seemed to push at his back, cooling the fear-sweat and making him shiver with more than cold. _

_He ran on in the semidarkness, his mind wild and his feet stumbling in their haste. He ran deeper and deeper into the twisting labyrinth, searching for an escape from the *something* he knew was just behind him, around the last corner, fallowing fast on his heels, panting for him, a danger he could not fight and, it was becoming increasingly clear, could not hope to out run. He had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, and no one to run to. He was all alone in this strange hell-place.  _

_Turning a last corner, he stumbled and fell face first to the hard, dusty ground. Lifting his head wearily, he opened gritty eyes to find himself transported to a different place, a beautiful oasis. The sky was clearest blue, a warm sun riding high and shining golden light down upon the hidden garden. Everywhere he looked was lush, verdant vegetation; wild, leafy vines clung to the red brick walls, thick, luxuriant grass covered the ground, now cushioning his exhausted body, beautiful, jewel-bright wildflowers scattered here and there. At the centre of the courtyard stood a marble fountain; an exquisite elf like creature, spouting crystal water seemed to wink mischievously at him. _

_Rising unsteadily to his tired feet, he dusted himself off.  Turning in an amazed circle he viewed the paradise he had unwittingly stumbled upon with wide eyes, taking in the beauty in which he was now surrounded. Finally completing a full circle, he jumped in surprise as he saw someone standing behind him, facing away from him so that only the back on the head was visible. The person before him seemed strangely familiar, an annoying tickle of memory made itself known at the back of his adrenalin riddles mind. Silver-blonde hair like solid moonbeams, shining like a halo of bright silk in the sunlight. A slim body, pale and well defined, long limbed and graceful, well known, well studied, easily recognisable. His beloved._

_Draco stood before him, turned away but still there with him, a link to love and reality, calming him in this strange, unknown world. He was no longer alone, Draco had come to be with him, to save him. Laughing aloud in joy, he reached out a loving hand to touch Draco's arm, intending to turn him around and embrace him. As soon as his fingertips brushed soft skin of his love's arm, he was shocked by a fierce heat that seemed to emanate from the skin, too hot for human skin. Pulling away his burnt hand, he cradled it to his chest, staring with wide, disbelieving eyes as Draco turned to face him. _

_It was not his love, but some strange and soulless copy. The normally ice blue eyes were a burning, smoky red, without pupil or iris, windows of nightmare, portals to hell. As he watched in stunned horror, a single, shining obsidian tear slid from one eye to tumble town the pale face, shattering on the ground with a noise like a scream of pain. Where the tear fell, a crack appeared, spreading and spidering out until the courtyard garden was riddled with them; thousands of fractures in this fragile landscape, peeling away the façade of serenity, revealing once again the terrible labyrinth._

_As the last vestiges of paradise faded around him as his oasis crumbled and burned away, Harry fell to his knees and let out a chilling scream or fear and pain._

_NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO . . . . . .       _

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The room was dark and silent, the air heavy and thick with magic and the smell of fear-sweat. The only sound that could be heard were the grunts and murmurs coming from the twitching body that lay entangled in the red velvet bed covers. The only light came from a sliver of pale moonlight visible through the window in the cold stone room. Harry only became more agitated, restless, twisting and turning as if trying to outrun some dream danger until finally he stilled for a moment, only to thrash like a wild animal a moment later, emitting a strangled whisper. 

"Noooo!"

As if this whisper was some sort of incantation, a summoning spell, something began to gather around his prone body. The air thickened, alive with power, with magic, almost sparkling, sparking with it and those sparks gathered around Harry's sleeping form. Light. Magic. Almost tangible power gathered round him, encasing him in a mist of shimmering, solid moonlight. The mist swirled and shone, growing, sending tendrils out to touch the rest of the room, to investigate, looking for something. The bedpost. The trunk. The desk. The pillow. And finally the desk beside the bed. The mist grew to a cloud of silver light blanketing the room, cooling Harry's fevered brow, leaving little sparks to shine for the moments after it dissipated, fading away, floating out the door and gone. Never seen, never known, but it had accomplished its purpose.

            *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_ . . . Harry lay on the stony ground, head held in his hands, despairing and terrified. Of being alone, of being lost, of being without hope. The burning flow of tears leaked from eyes squeezed close in anguish, branding him with shame. Draco could never love him. He had failed Draco. Draco would fall to darkness because he had never had his love. Draco would know the coward he was. Draco hated him. Draco. Draco. Draco. Oh Gods._

_Rocking back and forth, Harry drew his knees up to his chest and laid down his head, refusing to meet the horror that awaited him, his fate, alone forever. Suddenly he felt a cool hand caressing his forehead, calming, soothing, loving. Harry opened his eyes to find a slim, pale hand with long elegant fingers, manicured nails, soft but undoubtedly male. With disbelieving eyes Harry looked up to find himself staring in to the eyes of his beloved, his *true* beloved, pale skin, hair like moonbeams, silver blue eyes and all. Draco. *His* Draco. _

_Grasping the hand that reached for him, Harry rose to his feet, marvelling at the beauty that surrounded him. This was no terrifying black labyrinth, nor a fake garden of poison delights. It was The Grove, strangely lit by moonlight, a billion stars bright in the sky above them, lending the place a silver, surreal glow. But this place was real enough. The place where he had last seen Draco, what he had thought of as his personal hell, but now that Draco was here, looking at him with love in his eyes, it was heaven. _

_Draco smiled a soft, warm smile, nothing like his usual sneering smirks, but genuine, just for him. Draco's eyes radiated peace and contentment, showering Harry in love and warmth, welcoming him home. With words as soft as his smile, as powerful as his love, Draco spoke  - _

_"My Love, My Heart, My Soul."     _

_ - and Harry found himself embraced in two strong, pale arms, the emotion palpable, surrounding him like the arms of his beloved. Harry could not speak, tears tightening his throat, burning his eyes. Instead, he simply curled his arms about Draco's slim waist, picking him up and holding him high, twirling him in the bright moonlight, laughing aloud in indescribable joy. Harry had found his soul mate, and their love would be the stuff of legends . . . _

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He lay silent and still like the dead on his bed of green velvet. His mind lost in the land of dreams, leaving his body motionless in the cold stone room. In sleep, as in the rest of his life, he kept his thoughts and emotions deep inside, his dreams locked in the depths of his heart. Deep beneath the grounds, there was no natural light, the only illumination in the room coming from a small bedside lamp, spilling golden light to warm his pale features in artificial sunlight. Draco scoffed at those who did *not* fear the darkness, for they were surely foolish. There is everything to fear in the dark. But where there exists the potential for absolute evil, there exists an equal opportunity for true miracles to do their work. He dreamed there in the darkness, strange and clear so real as to make him doubt reality . . .

_ . . . Draco had flown on wings of love and hope to the castle, prepared to risk all in the hopes of winning Harry's affections from whoever his secret lover was. They were soul mates and a little embarrassment, when he inevitably announced his love to the school, could deter him. As he entered the castle, he was momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the darkness but then set off for his room, anticipation making his steps quick and light. Racing through the hallways, Draco's thoughts were on all his plans for the future and he kept picturing how Harry would react to his public declaration. Dear gods, he hoped Harry could find love inside his heart for one lonely man._

_Shaking his head at himself for the sentimental thoughts, Draco turned around the corner, not noticing jus who was standing there before it was too late . . . . he remembered this scene  . . . he remembered the pain . . . and yet something was different . . . he seemed to be . . . early? . . . the lovers had not yet embraced. Watching, silent and attentive, Draco's eyes grew wide in surprise, his heart grew heavy with hope, his soul grew light with joy._

_"Hermione, I love you . . ."_

_It was like a stab to the heart, a painful knife twisted deep. The words he longed to hear, the words he would never have for himself._

_" . . . You're my best friend!"_

_Draco almost fainted. Harry loved her. AS A FRIEND. And that was definitely something Draco could live with if it meant that he could be Harry's lover, share his heart, share his life and share his soul. Although he would never admit it, Draco was giddy with joy. He tuned out the rest of the scene as it played on, he knew how it went anyway, and instead tried to absorb all that he had learnt. Draco knew how this terrible scene had ended last time, he still felt the pain, but now he knew it had ended the *wrong* way. He had been given a chance and by the gods he would take it. _

_When Hermione left, Draco stayed and watched, his heat contracting in love and empathy as Harry sighed and turned away to walk alone. Alone, but not for long. Draco walked after him, not running but walking fast enough to catch him and look mildly casual . . who was he kidding. Giving up any chance at retaining his dignity, Draco all out ran, robes flapping and feet slapping on the old stone as he finally caught up with his beloved. _

_"Harry! Wait!!"_

_His raven-haired love turned at that breathless plea, a look of confusion on his face. He appeared calm, distant and . . . cold . . .unspeakably cold . . . unfeeling and uncaring, like Draco was a bug crawling along the ground. Dirty. Worthless. Beneath him. Draco shuddered and hugged himself, shivering as if on the receiving end of an icy wind, not an icy glare._

_With a long suffering sigh Harry drawled "What is it *now* Malfoy?"_

_"I . . . l-love . . . you" Draco trembled in fear. This would not work. Harry hated him. Loathed him. *Despised* him. He felt his fragile heart, newly mended crumble into tiny fragments, black rubble, filling his chest, chocking his lungs, he couldn't breathe he COULDN'T BREATHE!!!!_

_This difficult confession seemed to amuse Harry as he smirked, looking Draco up and down and then  . . . just laughed . . .and laughed . . .a high, maniacal, hysterical cackle and Draco felt as if he was shrinking getting smaller and smaller, and . . . it was either that or Harry had some previously unknown giant blood because Draco found himself an inch from the ground, looking up and a towering, madly laughing figure with beloved raven-black hair. He watched in horror as the giant-Harry lifted one enormous foot and, smiling in pure, malignant joy, brought it down to crush his bug-like self._

_All was darkness.  _        

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The castle was silent, not even the wind daring to whistle through the stone hallways. Something was about this night, something powerful and ancient a magic that permeated every room and corridor, steeping the old stone in a magic that surpassed any it had known before. From up in the towers, something moved through every inch of the castle, spreading and blanketing all in a fine golden mist, a blanketing fog that held secrets within it, sparkling with power it travelled down through every room, sending tendrils searching for . . . something . . . 

The golden mist spread, expanded into every nook and cranny of the old stone walls. Golden mist enveloped the astronomy tower, the class rooms, the storage rooms, the common rooms, the Great Hall and finally a lonely long corridor somewhere amidst it all.

And there it stoped. 

The mist faded, leaving the castle, leaving the grounds and leaving the mortal world. Vanished in a moment, tiny tendrils, golden, silver sparks, there for but the blink of an eye (if any had been awake to see it) and gone the next. Whatever it had come to do was done, and the mortals were once again on their own.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_ . . . The expected blow did not come, or if it did it was not felt, instead Draco lay, staring, terrified, into the darkness behind his eyelids. So afraid, so very afraid of everything, of the world, of the darkness, of . . . himself. If Harry, an angel fallen to earth, could not love him, then how could anyone? That . . . thing . . . could not have been his Harry but how could he truly know how the *real* Harry felt – just because he didn't love Hermione didn't mean that he loved Draco, or that he ever could._

_Warily, Draco pried his eyes open, gazing at the world through narrow slits. Something was wrong – he saw no stone, nor a giant foot – he was no longer in the castle. Draco had no fear though, nothing could be worse than seeing that look of malicious glee on his beloved's face. A look that *he* was famous for, a look that should never grace that angelic face. Opening his eyes fully, Draco stared around himself in confusion. He must have died. Even as he marvelled at a painless and swift death, Draco became suspicious – if he had died . . .where was the fire and brimstone? The little men in red pyjamas? The pointy sticks? And where was his father . . .    _

_Shaking his head in disbelief, Draco wondered what he could have possibly done to deserve this, to deserve . . . heaven. Or at least as close as it probably got. He had said that The Grove was heaven, and it appeared he was right. The Grove was beautiful, peaceful and almost perfect even without the fluffy white clouds and abundance of white. But, once again, it seemed that this heaven was missing the most important thing . . . or was it . . ._

_Shaking with breathless hope and fear that he was wrong, Draco turned around, desperately searching every corner of the flower-strewn clearing. No. No. No. No. Wait – There!_

_Something – someone was huddled at the edge of the clearing, rocking and sobbing like a lost little child under shade of one of the ancient trees that ringed The Grove. Not just "someone" he noted after a glimpse of beloved raven hued tresses. Not just someone – but Harry. But Draco could not be happy that his beloved was near for long, Harry was obviously upset, terrified and distraught, and Draco could never be happy if his beloved was not. He needed to do something. Now._

_Not even thinking, but acting on pure instinct, Draco stepped forward and stretched out a hand to sooth the frantic man, he desperately tried to calm his beloved, stroking his face and laying his cool hand against the burning forehead. Harry seemed shocked by this, but at least he stopped rocking. He was still as a stone, calmly studying the hand before him before lifting his head to meet Draco's eyes. At the sight of those emerald eyes, Draco felt his knees go weak, he saw in those clear pools an emotion he had only dreamed of seeing. Love. Hope. Joy. The mixture was enough to make him catch his breath, tears pooling in his own ice-blue eyes. _

_Harry grasped his outstretched hand, rising gracefully to his feet to meet Draco face-to-face. Draco didn't even think about it, couldn't have controlled it even if he had, but just let everything he was feeling shine forth from his eyes. And that seemed to be enough. He could not control the joy building within him, the joy that manifested itself in a radiant smile, the joy that he say reflected back at him in the eyes of his beloved. Harry was here, he was here, and here was heaven. Draco knew the time was right, already knew the reaction he would get and so spoke the only words he could. He spoke the truth, claiming his soul mate and offering up his heart in return._

_"My Love, My Heart, My Soul." _

_He embraced Harry, holding him close, trying to convey the truth of those words, and just how inadequate they were. And amazingly, Harry seemed to understand, returning the embrace and then lifting him high, twirling him round and round in the warm golden sunlight. They laughed and cried at once, joy washing the pain away and giving their hearts wings._

_Looking down at the beautiful face of his beloved, Draco knew he had found his soul mate, his home, and he knew with a certainty that warmed him that they would be together, through everything, in love, forever. _

_And that was all he could ask for, his heaven, wherever they were.            _

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

yeaahh baby that's a TBC and don't think u no everything! Love blooms in the darkness, never acknowledged in the light of day . . . next chap – the morning comes.

A/N's – I *finally* got in some happy  . . .wrapped in a whole lot of angst BUT IT WA THERE!

- ummm im thinking theres 2 more chapters maybe another for an empilogue or somfin.

- Wotchya think? R/R!!!!

- That was a long chap . . .woop I never no wots gonna happen when I start writin . . .sure as hell wasn't expectin that =P

- MEEERRRYYY CHRISTMAS (in 2 days) 

- As a special xmas pressie – im gonna try and get this finished by the big day 4 u all . . .=P arnt I nice? Lol

- Hmmmmmmmm I wonder if ne one knows wots gonna happen? *raises hand* *jumps up and down* I DO I DO heheheh and u will 2  . . soon

- Seriously does ne one no how to remove reviews????? Ish velly confusabumbalating heh


	8. the reactions

*Rating: this feels like a Pg:13 

*Pairing: yup HARRY/ DRACO all the way baby *sticks out tongue* they're not underage, so there. It *is* slash ppl I cant make that any clearer. Plz if u don't like it – don't read it.

*Summary: it's 7th year and two people are in love, but neither know it.  They both have one last chance. Will they take it?

*Feedback: plz plz plz plz plz plz plz if you read it tell me what you think???? I REALLY need the encouragement =P thanx muchly   

*Thanks to: Fanny_chan (that is *so* sweet omg, thank-you), eMJay (lmao you'll find out), silverhair (MEEP! Scary lady with knife . . .i'll finish!! I'll finish!! Promise!! MEEP), Aezy (hehehe merry xmas *hugs*)

*In general – I love all my reviewers =D you cant no how much ur reviews brighten my day, really, ppl tend to look at me a little strangely when I dance around the room huggin myself . . but its worth it =D MERRRRRRRY  XMAS!!

A/N – tis the night before Christmas!!!! Woop and I have 2 chapters to write *faints* oh dear.

- um these two chapters are probably gonna b pretty long coz I cant work out where to break them up and this seemed the easiest way.

- I hope you all enjoyed this story, I did. I love writing so dw there will b more from me. I have one story to finish then im starting a Hermione/Draco story called Mistaken Identities. Then a few other ideas I have *grins evilly*

- Im not very happy coz fanfiction.net is messing with my formatting gggggrrrrrllllll and *Y* are the spaces between the paragraphs so very big? Hmmmmmm . . . lmao

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**~ A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words ~**

Golden sunlight spilled through the window, bathing Harry's sleeping form in warmth, the bright light tickling behind his closed eyelids, gradually pulling him from a deep sleep, back to the reality of another morning. Yawning hugely, Harry rolled his head from side to side, wincing and then sighing in pleasure at the clicking sounds as he worked out all the knots in his neck and shoulders. He rubbed his eyes and blinked blearily, staring out the window at the clear blue sky. Harry wriggled around a little beneath the warm covers, making sleepy, contented noises as he battled the urge to fall asleep again. When he found his movement restricted Harry opened curious eyes to find the covers in disarray, hopelessly tangled, wrapped tight around him and pinning his over heated limbs to the bed.

"_What_ the . . ."

Harry was usually a deep sleeper, he never usually moved much in his sleep, wasn't really one of those people who spoke and acted out their dreams . . . or at least he *hadn't been* . . . making confused, disapproving noises, he straightened out the mess of covers, lying back down to rest his head on the soft pillow, wondering what on earth he had dreamed that night.

Searching through muddled memories, he recognised and put aside the dull throb of pain, was accosted by a flash of black stone and then . . . huh, strange. Where there had only been a lonely void yesterday, now there was . . . Peace. Contentment. Happiness. Surety. Security. Love – all those things he had never really felt, never believed he could, and more. A strange mixture of so many emotions, comforting reassuring him, so many emotions, so few he could identify, but all he welcomed. Even this excess of unexplained emotion was better than the void he had had. The emotions he had almost drowned in before that void, the pain, the loss, the fear, the anger, they were all subdued now, barely there, just . . . memories.

Why did he have memories of the pain and yet was totally mystified as to how he had come by these _new_ emotions? But, as he often did, Harry simply accepted the peaceful sensation. Why question a good thing, a little good luck? If he looked too deep they might disappear and Harry sorely needed a little peace right now. For some reason Harry knew that something had changed, knew that he had changed as well. Something had happened last night, and though he was certain it was not a *bad* thing, he wished to the gods he knew what it was. 

Realising that he had been pondering a little too long, and was now running late for breakfast, Harry threw off the covers and swung his feet off the bed. He dressed quickly and bounded down the stairs to the common room, gracing the students gathered there with a brilliant grin. Continuing on unfazed, probably not even noticing the surprised murmurs from his housemates, Harry walked out the portal and down to the great hall, humming a little tune, ready for a hearty breakfast – he was suddenly starving.         

Left behind in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione stood with a satisfied smile next to Ron, who was doing a passable imitation of a landed fish, looking bemusedly from Hermione's grin to the portal through which Harry had just exited. What had got into Harry . . . or *who* had got into Harry? . . . gods, no one told him anything these days.  

 "Well good. I was wondering when he would get back to normal again."  Announced Hermione with a relieved little laugh.

Ron continued to look back and forth, shaking his head "Wha - . . .how . . .who- . .what . . euh?"

Hermione simply smiled pityingly at her friend, grabbed his arm and led them out of the common room, saying soothingly - " Its alright Ron, don't worry . . . hmmmm what about waffles for breakfast?" And thankfully that was enough to distract the redhead who started in on a discussion of the merits of waffles verses eggs with passion.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco awoke that same morning in a slightly different manner. Deep in the bowls of the school, there were no windows and accordingly no bright, warm morning sunshine, just the grating buzz of an alarm clock and the darkness of a stone room as the lamp had blown a globe sometime that night. Cursing softly under his breath, Draco scrambled for his wand calling forth a glowing light. Climbing out of bed, he began to gather his clothes, dressing in his usual efficient manner but _something_ was bothering him, it was niggling at the back of his mind, tickling annoyingly. Something just seemed  - off - there was something different and damn if he knew what it was. Abandoning his efforts at dressing when he ended up with his shirt buttoned up one button down all the way along, Draco threw himself back onto the bed, landing with a soft "Oof!", spread out on the messy covers.

Resignedly, he closed his eyes, clearing his mind and trying to focus on the strange sensation just on the edge of his consciousness. Disbelievingly, Draco gave what he found there a mental prod and it flared to vibrant life, flooding his mind with unknown emotions. A tingling warmth spread out from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, cocooning him in feelings of peace and safety like a warm blanket. This new sensation was totally unfamiliar but definitely not unwelcome. It was how he had always imagined being loved would feel, like being embraced in caring arms, like connecting with someone on the deepest level, like having someone watching out for you. 

Thank the gods for self-delusion!

 Shaking his head at himself and his fanciful thoughts, Draco got back of the bed and finished dressing, properly this time. Determined just to accept this wonderful feeling without asking to many questions, Draco ignored the strange flashes he had of something huge crushing him, and instead held onto on the "happy thoughts" and mockingly prayed he wouldn't go flying off somewhere. Smiling at his twin in the mirror, Draco noted the twinkle in his eye and the rare, genuine warmth to his smile and shrugged it aside, gods damn it he was allowed to be happy sometimes. Finally running a hand through his hair, Draco prowled down the stairs, winking at the few people who remained in the Slytherin common room. 

It didn't mean anything to Draco, that little wink, he barely even noticed himself doing it, he just thought of it as a slight variation of his morning greeting. Actually there normally was a morning greeting, just a glare or at best a cold smirk, so he could probably understand why his housemates stood there stunned, struck dumb in  . . .fear? . . . of this shocking little wink and the cocky little grin that followed it, they probably thought he had lost his mind. But Draco could care less. Mentally shrugging, he turned on his heel and prowled out of the portal, heading for the Great Hall.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The hall was alive and buzzing with early morning talking, the sounds of young men and women enjoying a good meal and good company resonating through the enormous stone room. All the students present in the Great Hall that day were amazed, stunned, seeing stars, or at least heavenly bodies, as they watched in awe, the sun and moon entered though separate doors converging on the helpless crowd, lighting up the room with their presences. The usual inane chatter ground to a halt, the sound of dropped cutlery ringing loud in the silence as everyone turned to stare first one way, as the sun shone down upon them, and then another, as the moon glided in, romantic and magnetic.  

Harry was bright and warm as the sun, tanned skin glowing with happiness, wide emerald eyes alight with love, smile soft and sensual. Each gaze that met his own fell in love just a little bit, mesmerized by his almost magical beauty. Though he never noticed, every man and woman in that hall stopped what they were doing, drawn to him, instantly attracted even though they knew that they could never have him as his love obviously belonged to another. The girls almost swooned while the boys simply stared in confusion and in unexplainable attraction. Both females and males experienced pangs of jealousy, of Harry and of whoever had his love.

Although the reactions were varied, they were all strong, but perhaps not as strong as they might have been because they all had thought of Harry a warm, open, friendly type of person . . . just never to quite this extent. When Harry moved to sit down, gracing the Gryffindor table with an affectionate grin, the spell was broken, and the shocked and excited whisperings started up, swelling in a great rising tide – what had happened to Potter? The murmurings grew louder and more far-fetched until suddenly - silence - reined once more, the whole student body turned as one to stare fixedly at the entrance to the great hall. Draco Malfoy . . . or was it?

Draco was as hauntingly beautiful as the moon, pale skin glowing with happiness, eyes a liquid, mesmerising silver instead of the usual distant ice-blue, his hair shone like pale, spun gold in the light of the hall, like solid moon beams. He prowled into the hall, power and grace evident in every move and the crowd caught its breath at his seductive beauty. His soft smile enticed them, beckoned them to love him, to worship him, to discover his secrets and promising everything in return. He was the ultimate temptation and they were helpless against him. This transformation was even more shocking than Harry's because Draco had always been hidden from them - a mystery wrapped in an enigma, surrounded by secrets - and now he walked among them, all fluid grace an ethereal beauty, a walking dream.

And abruptly, something clicked in the minds of all the students gathered in the hall. The moon and the sun, complete opposites and yet each unable to exist without the other, two parts of a whole, powerful, magical, perfect – perfect for each other. And just like that, the students looked away, each and every one, they knew now that they belonged to each other, even if they didn't know it yet, and they had no business interfering. True love would take its course and they would all be there to congratulate the two when they finally got a clue.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry sat down at the table, his happiness still imbuing him with a warm glow, his smile not even dimming at the strange looks he got. They didn't look disgusted or angry, so Harry really didn't care what they thought - for the first time in a long while he was happy and he was going to keep it that way. Harry absently looked around at the mounds of delicious food around him, tuning out the buzz of conversation to concentrate on the growl in his belly. Gods he was starving! Deciding to start with some fruit, Harry froze in mid reach, looking around at his housemates. Every single person at the table had fallen silent, all simultaneously turning to stare at something behind Harry. 

Curiously, Harry turned to see what they were all gawking at . . . and then quickly turned away at the fresh stab of pain. He resolutely stared at his plate, wondering why everyone was staring at Draco, wondering what they were seeing. To him, Draco looked exactly as he always did. Perfect. Beautiful. *Incredibly* sexy. Sighing, Harry admitted to himself that though he was happy and at peace, he was obviously not over Draco, not that he had ever really thought he was but . . .life goes on, and so apparently did his love. Though it saddened him that he would have to live his life in love with someone who hated him, Harry cherished his love – he shuddered to imagine a world where he did *not* love Draco . . .what kind of cruel existence would that be?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco stalked into the hall, the sense of peaceful contentment loosening his muscles and joints, making him seem to glide across the stone floors. Feeling generous, he let loose a genuine smile, languid and sensual, he moved forward to the Slytherin table, absently wondering what everyone was staring at, discreetly checking his face for any nasty sticky things . . . or strange growths . . . strange growths were always a worry when surrounded by so much magic . . . but he found nothing, so shrugging, he sat down and took a good look at his options for breakfast. His mouth watering he took in the mountains of every kind of food imaginable: eggs, muffins, toast, waffles, bacon, sausages, strawberries and mangoes and other delicious fruits, cordials and pumpkin juice, hot coffee and tea . . . a feast for kings – or kings in the making.

Licking his lips, juicy apple in hand, Draco took a moment to glance around the room, or at least that's what he told himself, but honestly he was not surprised as his gaze automatically travelled to the Gryffindor table and a particular raven-haired Adonis. Gods but he was beautiful, powerful and intelligent, exuding confidence and charm, so enticing, delectable, positively edible and Draco suddenly found his appetite – for apples – fading. Draco had to forcibly restrain himself from following the example set by Dobby the house-elf and punishing himself, hitting his head against the table or some such, for his thoughts and for the realisation that he was still madly in love with Harry Potter.

With a possessive surge, he told himself that he didn't care that Harry had a lover, Draco was in love and he was a *very* determined person and he would have Harry no matter what, to have and to hold, to love and cherish for all their days on earth. It might have been sentimental, it might have been hopeless, but it was true, it was how he felt and from now on Draco was only going to be honest with himself. It was a step in the right direction . . . a step in Harry's direction and he would take it gladly.  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

WOOP TBC soz I had to break this up but ill get the next chap up in like an hour so lol not much to wait . . theres only the next chapter and then . . .ONE MORE and they will both be up within the next day or 2

MERRRRRYYY CHRISTMAS

Lots of love, plz R/R and ill love u more =D have a happy and safe holiday!


	9. the paintings

*Rating: this feels like a Pg:13 

*Pairing: yup HARRY/ DRACO all the way baby *sticks out tongue* they're not underage, so there. It *is* slash ppl I cant make that any clearer. Plz if u don't like it – don't read it.

*Summary: it's 7th year and two people are in love, but neither know it.  They both have one last chance. Will they take it?

*Feedback: plz plz plz plz plz plz plz if you read it tell me what you think???? I REALLY need the encouragement =P thanx muchly   

*Thanks to: Fanny_chan and Aezy who I love beyond all reason coz they review *all* my chapters. Special merry Christmas to you both. One more chap . . tomorrow I promise – its already midnight here.

*In general – I love all my reviewers =D you cant no how much ur reviews brighten my day, really, ppl tend to look at me a little strangely when I dance around the room huggin myself . . but its worth it =D MERRRRRRRY  XMAS!!

A/N – tis the night before Christmas!!!! Woop and I have 2 chapters to write *faints* oh dear.

- um these two chapters are probably gonna b pretty long coz I cant work out where to break them up and this seemed the easiest way.

- I hope you all enjoyed this story, I did. I love writing so dw there will b more from me. I have one story to finish then im starting a Hermione/Draco story called Mistaken Identities. Then a few other ideas I have *grins evilly*

- Im not very happy coz fanfiction.net is messing with my formatting gggggrrrrrllllll and *Y* are the spaces between the paragraphs so very big? Hmmmmmm . . . lmao

- OMG don't u love this – I figured out how to get normal spacing on the second last chapter -classic

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**~ A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words ~******

The hall quieted as Dumbledore rose from his at the high table, standing tall and poised, gracefully waiting for silence to fall before speaking. In respect, all student chatter was finished and every eye turned towards the ancient but still powerful figure of the headmaster. Smiling down at the young faces gathered before him, Dumbledore cleared his throat to begin. 

"Girls and boys, today is a very special day indeed." There was a twinkle in his eye as he noted the different reactions to this announcement. "Today, it is exactly one month since I stood here and made an announcement of the Hogwarts Art Competition. As I said that day, the prize is 100 house points for the best piece. All the entries for this competition have been gathered and we will now announce the results. . . . Miss Lorrel, if you would do the honours . . ."  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco sat stunned. He had completely forgotten about the painting, about the whole competition. When he had seen Harry embracing Hermione, it had – slipped his mind . . . just like the painting had slipped from his hand. Oh Dear Gods! The painting was lying in some long, lonely stone corridor somewhere . . .if he was lucky . . .and it hadn't been peed on by Mrs. Norris . . .that cat was rather fond of marking its territory. Unnoticed by the crowd around him, Draco brought a hand up to cover his mouth. OH! His masterwork was lost . . . and there was no chance of entering it in the competition *now* they were announcing the results for the gods sake. Sadly, Draco put aside his last – almost forgotten – hope and tried to concentrate on what Miss Lorrel, the competition co-ordinator was saying.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry sat completely still in his chair, remembering. The joy he had felt when he thought of a last chance to win Draco. The hope he had for the future. The rage he felt towards the people who had hurt Draco. The pain he felt when he learned that he was one of those people. The confusion about *everything* and then . . .the painting. It had been special – magical, wonderful, a true representation of his love but he just didn't have the courage to use it. He was a coward and he had failed, passed up the last chance. All was lost. Even though the thoughts were a tad melodramatic, Harry knew it was true. He had left the painting on his bed-side table, neglecting to enter it out of fear and now it was too late. Somehow, he just knew that this competition had meant something special, that it truly *was* his last chance . . . no longer. Quietly mourning his love, Harry shook himself, focusing on the high table, just a little bit curious as to who had actually won the competition.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

" . . .Thankyou Headmaster. Well, we've had a pretty good selection of entries this year . . . probably the prize" here she paused for the appropriate subdued laughter before continuing on "Most of the entries were beautiful, I am so proud of all of you who put in so much the thought and effort, unfortunately there were a few rather tasteless entries submitted, I suspect as a prank . . . Misters Crabbe and Goyle and Mr. Finnegan – could I please see you after breakfast, thankyou" While everyone looked suspiciously to the three boys mentioned, Miss Lorrel searched the pocket of her robes for a piece of parchment "Um let me see . . . Yes! Now the moment you have all been waiting for – the winner or should I say _winners_ of the competition. You see we received two entries at the last minute, both are incomparable pieces, stunning really and we just could not choose between the two. I am actually quite happy with this decision as the two paintings seem to be part of a set, though both are obviously by different artists, and it would be a shame to split them up. Now unfortunately both paintings were submitted without an artists signature so at first we were confused as to who would receive the house points. Finally we decided that because the artists obviously did not wish to make themselves known, we would simply award the points to the subjects of the paintings, as they are both portraits . . ." The crowd went a little wild at this point, expectant and delighted by the mystery, they called out to know who it was, some calling out that it was them, just generally a lot of encouraging noise. . .

"Could Mister Draco Malfoy and Mister Harry Potter please come up to the high table, 100 house points both to Slytherin and Gryffindor!!!" In the all the excitement, the cheering of the crowd and the loud congratulations on both sides, no one noticed the poleaxed expressions of both the boys nor the question that appeared in two beautiful sets of eyes when they locked together - what the hell was going on?  

When both the boys arrived at the high table, they were both told to stand next to a different cloth covered object. They waited patiently as Dumbledore once again stood, this time to utter a charm to remove the coverings simultaneously. Staring out at the crowd, they had a perfect view of the faces of their fellow students as the coverings disappeared. Both boys were too scared to look at the painting, afraid of what they would see, and when they saw the completely shocked looks on the faces of the other students, they both fought the urge to flee, turning to stare at each other before finally looking at the paintings standing oh-so-innocently next to them . . .

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco looked to the artwork before him, and it was like looking into a mirror . . . a very flattering mirror. Every stroke of the painting glowed with emotion, love and respect, happiness, hope, trust and so much joy. He stood out against the background of lush grass, towering trees . . . wild flowers . . . whoever had painted this painting had painted him in The Grove. How could the artist know about the grove? He had thought he was the only one. It was a perfect representation of that heaven, his haven - perfect and beautiful - just as he remembered it. 

Draco stood speechless, his eyes glued to the canvas, flying from one part to another, drinking it all in. The light was so warm, so realistic, the beautiful background so stunning that it made him want to reach out and touch it, to somehow melt through the canvas and become of the world captured there. The painting was truly magnificent, depicting a heaven, a picture of perfection. And the artist had chosen to put Draco there – standing in the middle of The Grove – surrounded by all that beauty, a part of it forever at least in the painting. 

Draco felt tears burning in his eyes as he beheld the painting, someone had painted this for him, he didn't know how, but they *had* and that was enough. The painted Draco stood out from the background, totally opposite to his surroundings, but somehow an important part of the whole piece, completing it. The way the artist had portrayed him was . . . stunning, Draco knew that the way he was painted was not what the world saw but instead exactly what he wanted to be. The artist knew him, understood him and obviously cared for him or at least about him . . . for some reason.

Draco stood in the warm sunlight, pale as the moon, almost glowing. His face was open and friendly, unafraid and trusting, as if the whole word was his friend and no one could ever hate him. Looking at the representation of himself, Draco almost believed that for a second, the image was so powerful. His hair was a thousand different shades of pale blond, shinning in the sun like white-gold, rich and beautiful. It framed a pale face, not sickly but porcelain smooth, exquisite, it made him want to reach out and touch it, unaware of his own action, Draco's hand ghosted across his own pale cheek like a remembered caress. 

His image's eyes were wide with wondrous discovery delight in everything he saw, warm and shadowed with love and secret emotions, they were a melting, liquid silver, beautiful. He had a smile on his face, warm and welcoming, sensual and sensuous, curving with secret knowledge, barely hidden laughter. His head was tilted ever so slightly to one side, as if pondering the secrets of the universe, denoting a fierce intelligence and curiosity that was echoed in the warm silver eyes. 

He stood arms outstretched as if waiting to embrace a loved one, and everyone who looked upon his felt that they were loved and welcomed. Flowing blue robes billowed out from his slim body, as if blown in a warm breeze. The robe shimmered and moved like water around his form, so many shades of blue and green, aqua, sapphire, cerulean, cobalt, azure all the colours of the oceans, the rivers, the still lakes, the mountain streams, the secret hot springs, beautiful. It was as if all the ice he had surrounded himself in had melted, flowing away from him, clothing his form, baptizing him, absolving his sins.

Over all the painting was simply incomparable, to Draco it meant the world, it meant that *someone* cared enough to know him, to paint him, to do this for him. Shaking Draco thought that even if no one else loved him, this person did, loved him like he loved Harry. Harry. No. It couldn't be . . . that – would be *too* good, too perfect, a miracle and it just wouldn't happen, not in the real world. That kind of magic didn't exist . . . did it? Hoping despite his disbelief, Draco casually tried to turn his head to glance at the boy next to him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Dumbledore removed the coverings, Harry hesitated before turning around to look at the painting behind him, and it was like looking into a mirror . . . a very flattering mirror. Every stroke of the painting glowed with emotion, love and respect, happiness, hope, trust and so much joy. The artist had put so much into this painting and Harry's heart ached with gratitude, it truly was a beautiful thing, a masterpiece, indescribable and it was all for him, or at least it seemed that way. This painting was an expression of someone's emotions, and they harmonized with Harry's own so beautifully that he wondered if he had a twin around here somewhere . . . except this person felt that way about *him* not Draco, and that was all very well because if this person had painted a painting like this of Draco, Harry would be forced to do that person grievous bodily harm. Or at least scare them a little.

Harry was painted against a background so stunning, incredibly beautiful, that it seemed like it could not be real, but the enchanting detail made it seem real enough to touch, almost like he could step through the canvass and enter this world, this beautiful place, this heaven on earth. The verdant grove . . .it seemed familiar somehow, like he had been there before . . .oh gods! It was Draco's grove. Harry felt the tears welling in his eyes. The artist had painted him in Draco's grove, a part of it forever, a part of Draco's secret place and therefore a part of Draco. Forever. It was the greatest gift that Harry had ever received, more than compensating for years of toothpicks and hand-me-down socks. His eyes glued to the painting, Harry tuned out the rest of the world, completely absorbed in this glimpse of heaven that was all for him.

The Grove was wondrous, towering, ancient trees, clinging vines, lush grass and wild flowers all illuminated in the pale glow of moonlight, shimmering and glinting off everything, brilliant colours obvious even in the darkness, it was bright even though the only light was from the moon and millions of glittering stars against the sky, diamonds on black velvet. The moonlight seemed to flow around The Grove, almost liquid, touching everything, the shadows only darker but not unknown, nothing to fear in this grove only safety, peace, and love.

Having taken in the wonder of the background, Harry moved on to the focus of the painting, slightly hesitant to find out how the artist had chosen to represent him, wondering if he would do it as well, as truthfully as he had the rest. And his breath caught in his throat. His image was not what he allowed the world to see, it was what he wanted to be, everything he hoped he could be, the painted Harry seemed to exude love, strength, faith, courage and so many other things that he found so difficult but wanted so badly. The artist was either a mind reader or had the gift of sight, no one knew him like this. No one had ever really wanted to. Wanted to know him, to understand him, to love him. To love him like he loved Draco.

The painted Harry stood out from the background, totally opposite to his surroundings, but somehow an important part of the whole piece, completing it. He was a bright, warm being, surrounded – illuminated - caressed by cool moonlight. He radiated warmth and light, his whole being alive with love, vibrant life and secret knowledge. Harry's Eyes moved from the top of his images head, to its toes drinking it all in, all his nerves on sensory overload. He was beautiful, the artist obviously thought that and . . . for a second Harry almost believed it too.   

His hair was not just black, the moonlight struck extraordinary colours from it, every shade of brown, rich and warm, golds and coppers, rich reds and hints of so many unnameable shades, making what eh had always thought of as a mess into the richest silk, alive with colour and texture. This living silk framed a face, golden and slowing like the sun, warm, making all who saw it want to reach out and touch it, to feel that heat, that glowing bronze satin. His cheeks held a light flush, as if surprised, exited, happy and healthy . . . in love. 

It would be a blatant, inexcusable understatement to call his eyes "green". They were shimmering pools of every shade imaginable - emerald, jade, olive, lime, the green of the deepest, warmest, secret oceans, the verdant green of the rainforest, the bright green of new grass, shimmering, flowing, twin kaleidoscopes of colour. Thick, dark lashes framed the eyes, managing to seem at the same moment both wide open and coyly lowered, hiding mysteries unknown.

His smile was bright and gleeful, as if everything amused him, nothing could cast a shadow on his happiness. That smile invited people to share his joy, his delight in life and love, to share in all the good things in life and taste heaven, experience the ecstasy of true love, the elation that true happiness could bring. His head was tilted back, as if trying to see as much of the world at one time as he could, trying to see everything, and experience and enjoy, caught in rapture, on the verge of a rich laugh, marvelling at his luck.  

He stood arms outstretched as if waiting to embrace a loved one, and everyone who looked upon his felt that they were loved and welcomed. Robes billowed out from his muscular form, like living flame they flowed around him in the moonlight, all the colours of a raging sun, of a candle flame, of the fire at the centre of the earth, red, crimson, scarlet and ruby, orange, carrot, auburn and ginger, gold, saffron, lemon and buttercup. Flames that flowed from his being as if absolving him, burning away the sins, the pain, the lies, leaving his to rise like a phoenix from the ashes, reborn strong and pure, beautiful.

Staggering back a little, Harry fought to take it all in, the painting just gave him an incredible impression of love and trust, faith, and everything that he so desperately needed. Someone had cared enough to paint this for him, to put so much effort, so much feeling so much *soul* into this masterpiece. And that meant the world to Harry. This painting was an embodiment of love, the forever kind of love, the kind of love he felt for Draco. Draco. It couldn't be . . . that – would be *too* good, too perfect, a miracle and it just wouldn't happen, not in the real world. That kind of magic didn't exist . . . did it? Hoping despite his disbelief, Harry casually tried to turn his head to glance at the boy next to him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC. 

Gaaahhhh that was long . .*pout* its 1 o'clock on Christmas eve and im sitting at my computer doin this for you . . .i hope u all appreciate ur gift =D merry xmas! 

Im sorry it took a little longer than I thought, I had to do all this last minute stuff (cleam the floor, do the dishes, wrap presents, decorate, put away the food, make the little Christmas pudding things . . .you know . .just last minute stuff.)

For ne one in australia happy xmas as it is now one hour into the 25th! Did u watch carols by candle light? Hehehehe 

For everyone else im no good with time differences so merry Christmas for whenever yours is!

;) AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT! Dream happy dreams (day dreams if its actually the middle of the day wherever you are) of Harry and Draco and how they get together in the next chapter!!!!! MWUAHAHAHA *wiggles eyebrows* till tomorrow then.   


	10. the confessions

*Rating: this feels like a Pg:13 

*Pairing: yup HARRY/ DRACO all the way baby *sticks out tongue* they're not underage, so there. It *is* slash ppl I cant make that any clearer. Plz if u don't like it – don't read it.

*Summary: it's 7th year and two people are in love, but neither know it.  They both have one last chance. Will they take it?

*Feedback: plz plz plz plz plz plz plz if you read it tell me what you think???? I REALLY need the encouragement =P thanx muchly   

*Thanks to: Kevralyn(who actually reviewed my 8th chapter – I wrote 2 chapters more this is the last =D enjoy), DBZVelena (heh I hope this will suffice =P thanx), BakaWeapon (heheh spooky=P I love u muchly coz u added me to ur favourites list WOOP go u! go me! Go us!), and once again AEZY!!!!! Ur just to fabulous for words *does a little dance* woop woop Fanny_chan is the greatest heheheh thanx darlin. For the final time thankyou all so much and MERRY CHRISTMAS! 

*In general – I love all my reviewers =D you cant no how much ur reviews brighten my day, really, ppl tend to look at me a little strangely when I dance around the room huggin myself . . but its worth it =D MERRRRRRRY  XMAS!!

- A/N well its been great - but this is the last chapter. =D I have sooo many other stories to write – many many ideas. I hope u will all take a peak at my work in the future. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR

- Thankyou for reading and *hugs* to all my reviewers. 

- Can I also say that for me the best writing music is Elvis? God I love this stuff.

- Oh and I'd also like to take the chance to alternately praise and curse my mother, she gave me a huge box Guylian Chocolate Seashells for X-mas . . . .they lure u in with the sweet, sweet taste and then the kilos come up from no where and jump you =P but GODS I love these things . . .mmmmmm I can type one handed (she says scoffing chocolates by the second) 

- And hey! Life is like a box of chocolates, sweet and rich - enjoy the variations and the surprises, savour the experience. 

- Um just for future reference – if I like a story and other ppl like it (like this one) then I generally update every day or every few days – more reviews means faster updates ;) lol. Oh ummmmm anddddddd I'm gonna start a new Harry/Draco soon a reaaalllyy long one so I'm putting it off for a bit. 

- Ohhhh btw I no that pictures move at hogwarts but Harry and Draco just painted them, they havnt been charmed so they don't move.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

**~ A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words ~**

_ . . . That kind of magic didn't exist . . . did it? . . ._

Harry took a peak at Draco, only to catch the boy doing exactly the same thing. Staring at him from the corner of his eye, making it look calmly casual. But Harry knew Draco. He looked into those exquisite quicksilver eyes and was caught, their eyes locked and something passed between them. Harry saw the confusion, the slight tinge of fear and almost shuddered – something was wrong here. Draco obviously had nothing to do with Harry's own painting – he seemed genuinely shocked. Not even noticing that he was openly staring, Harry's brow wrinkled in puzzlement. There was something else there . . . suspicion? Why would Draco be suspicious of anything – of him? Harry had nothing to do with it. His painting was safe on the bedside table in his room, where he had left it . . . 

Oh Gods, Harry was assaulted by a bright, earth shattering flash of memory – he remembered waking up that morning . . .and looking over to the table for his glasses, he had not seen a painting!!!! With all those unexplained feelings claiming his attention, Harry had completely forgotten about it . . . groaning, Harry desperately wondered how long it had been gone . . .realizing with a pang that it could have been taken in time to enter the competition. Squeezing his eyes shut in pain, screwing up his courage, Harry tentatively peered towards the painting standing next to Draco . . . Double damn! . . . and had all his fears become a reality. There his painting stood, in plain sight, while the whole school stared. And Draco . . . Draco met his eyes with a look of such horror, of such extreme mortification, that Harry felt hysterical sobs building somewhere deep inside. 

He had never thought this was a good idea. GODS! Draco must truly hate him, and his sad attempt at expressing his love had only disgusted the object of that affection. He must have been mad, how could he have ever thought this could work, it had never had a chance. Harry could not take it any more – he *had* to get away from that stare, from the *whole* school that was staring at them both, witnessing his humiliation. It would only be seconds before Draco reacted, before he did laughed, or cried, or punched him, and Harry knew he could never survive that. So he did the only thing he could. He ran. And ran. And kept on running until he was so lost that he couldn't think, couldn't remember anything, could only slump to the ground in exhaustion and fall into a curious kind of trance, hiding from the life that just kept getting harder and more confusing with every passing minute, allowing himself to escape reality for just a little while. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_. . . That kind of magic didn't exist . . . did it? . . ._

Draco gazed at his beloved, for the millionth time catching his breath at his astounding beauty. The what light there was in the hall seemed to be drawn to Harry, who in turn glowed with it, radiating a warm golden light that reached out to him, raising his temperature and bringing a light flush to Draco's pale cheeks. Even though he only admitted it to himself, Draco was fully aware that he was head over heels, hopeless, and even if the painting meant nothing, he would still love Harry Potter all his days. 

Draco was understandably shocked, the very foundations of his reality rocked, teetering dangerously. He found it hard to come to terms with the fact that someone had wanted to create such a beautiful thing for him and the possibility that that person was his very own beloved, Harry. He was so afraid to let himself hope, to actually believe that Harry could love him, that when Harry finally turned to look at him, all he could do was stare right back. As if he had had blinkers on, all he could see were those two beguiling emerald pools.

Draco wondered if Harry was experiencing the same incredible thing, because if he was, then Draco could be in a *lot* of trouble. He could see every emotion that appeared in Harry's eyes, almost like he could read his thoughts. He saw the surprise, the shock, and . . . oh no . . . Harry was scared, he was confused and  . . . Harry shuddered, he *actually* shuddered, could what he found in Draco's eyes be that repulsive? . . . yes. Obviously it was because a moment later Harry broke the connection and turned away from Draco, leaving him to stare forlornly, heart shattered, faith in tatters, at Harry's profile. 

Suddenly, something behind Harry caught his attention; his gaze travelling over his beloved's head to the artwork behind him, Draco stared in abject horror at the painting. Not just any painting, no - but *his* painting. Double Damn! Harry knew who had painted that, he must! He knew, and he was afraid, afraid of *him*. Oh gods, Harry hated him and Draco was just so disgusted in himself for daring to hope, for daring to love that he could not hold back a wince of pain. 

Harry seemed like he was about to break down, and even though he knew he would only disgust Harry more by running to him and enfolding him in his arms, holding him safe forever, Draco had to violently suppress the urge to do just that. Harry looked like he was trying to make a quick decision, like he was making that ancient, vital decision – fight or flee – and while Draco fervently prayed that he would stay and say something to him, he hoped that "fight" didn't consist of either a. throwing up on him or b. using those Quidditch muscles and knocking his lights out. The next second, all Draco could see was Harry's fleeing backside as he ran as fast as if the gates of hell had opened up behind him. And suddenly Draco was the devil incarnate again - he'd never had a bloody chance.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco just stood there, a slightly quivering figure, alone, before the restless, furiously whispering crowd of students. He closed his eyes, blocking out the world, if he didn't see it then it wasn't real. He stayed where he was, frozen in place, until he felt a solid hand fall on his shoulder, offering some little comfort, giving him the strength to open his eyes once more, looking up into the wizened face of Dumbledore, kind blue eyes looking down into his, twinkle momentarily dimmed. 

"Mr. Malfoy, I believe you can go now, the paintings will be hung in the galleria, near the Muggle Studies classrooms. You don't seem so well to me . . . perhaps you better take a little break, I will inform your teachers. Oh and Harry too, I wonder what's wrong there." When Draco simply stared at Dumbledore, tears of gratitude gathering in his eyes, Dumbledore gave him a gentle nudge, smiling kindly. "Go on now Draco . . ."

Oblivious to the stares and whispers, Draco stumbled from the hall, dazed and confused. When he reached a corridor, he turned down it, and when the next came he followed that as well, wandering aimlessly as he processed the morning's rollercoaster-ride of emotions.            

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco found himself well and truly lost by midday, his feet, and his heart, weary and sore, Draco staggered into the nearest corridor. His confused feet felt the unusual plush carpet of this hallway and trued to stop, unfortunately, the rest of Draco was beyond the stopping point, so without any possible hope of saving himself, Draco lurched to the ground, swivelling mid air to land flat out on his back on the plush, royal blue carpeting. Hissing with pain, Draco simply lay there for a second, fed up with all the things that seemed to be tripping him up in life  - from unrequited love to odd carpet – by the gods he was done with it all. 

"Ahhhh not as "plush" as you seem, huh?" Rubbing his throbbing head and patting the carpet with mock fondness at the same time, Draco rose to his feet, dusting of his black robes and growling quietly at the little blue fibres stuck everywhere. "Damn nuisance. Why _on earth_ does one corridor in this whole bloody great stone castle have carpeting? Just *one* offcourse, and not somewhere useful like in the dungeons where we could use the extra warmth, no! *That* would be sensible! Instead they put the carpet here in the . . ." Draco broke of mid-sentence to actually find out where he was . . . and almost collapsed again - just his *bloody* luck. " . . . the galleria. Where else?" 

With a mocking little laugh, Draco held his head in his hands, the laughter mutating into hysterics, on the verge of an all out tantrum. Of _all_ the _many_ rooms, corridors, hallways, stairs, floors, and other spaces in the _entire_ school . . . he had ended up here – the galleria – the place where they had hung his painting. 

"_Are you trying to tell me something here?!?! _AM I MISSING SOMETHING?!?!?!? _Cant you just *say* it, damn you?!"_ Looking up to the rafters as if he could see straight through to the heavens, Draco raised his arms in supplication, almost screaming in frustration. Draco hung his head in exhaustion, all the fight drained out of him. Finally after minutes alone in the darkness behind his lids, Draco oped his eyes and looked to the wall in front of him, submitting to the inevitable. 

The two paintings hung side by side. It was hard to believe that they were not painted by the same person or at least together, the style and general theme of the two pieces was in perfect harmony. Draco felt his heart constrict as he stared at the painting of himself, pale as the moon surrounded by sunlight, and then his painting of Harry, warm and golden as the sun, bounded by pale moonlight. The paintings were complete opposites and yet they fit together properly, like two halves of a whole, together they were more impressive, more beautiful than they ever were alone. 

"Ohhh . . ." the soft exhalation was followed by a single crystal tear, flowing down a pale cheek unnoticed. The whole effect was stunningly beautiful. But Draco felt his eyes burning; they would never be together, no even in a painting. Both the figures stood arms out stretched waiting to embrace life and love, and yet frames separated them forever. They were in two different as different as night and day, both stuck forever in their separate places. 

"And never the twain shall meet." At this, a life time alone came crashing down on Draco's head, and he broke down, deep, wracking sobs clawing their way up from the bottom of his soul, rocking and whispering nonsense words between his wretched moans.

Swaying under his grief, Harry threw out a hand to steady himself, palm flat the textured surface . . . of a painting. Instantly Draco's sobs quieted, his eyes clearing, opened wide and staring at the portrait if Harry that he was touching. Through that connection, Draco was flooded with peaceful feelings, safety, calming waves of love and reassurance. It was like being enfolded in a tight hug, like snuggling with an old blanket. It was indescribable, incomparable, powerful. 

Laying his forehead against the picture, Draco exhaled a shaking breath. "Oh, Harry . . ." If he would never have the chance to share his feelings with the real thing, then he would tell all to an image of his beloved. It was his only option . . . something he needed to do. He needed to get it all off his chest and at least, when talking to a painting, he could be sure of its reaction. Absolutely Nothing. And nothing was fine with him, better than any reaction he'd had to date by far.

So, emboldened by his complete secrecy and lack of an audience, Draco proceeded to tell the painting of his beloved every thought and feeling in his cowardly heart. "Well Harry, you see its like this . . ."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry was rudely awoken from a blissfully deep sleep against the cold stone wall of a lonely corridor by the sound of someone shouting. Harry couldn't recognise the voice but the emotion thrumming through every word was patently evident. Someone was angry, but more than that there was a terrible sadness that plucked at Harry's heartstrings, clear notes of empathy. Whoever the person was, they were near hysterics and not even noticing that his feet were once again under him and his body was moving toward the source of the noise, Harry listened intently to the shouting, trying to pin point the location. 

Abruptly, and all to soon, the shouting stopped and Harry was left floundering in an unfamiliar corridor. Making himself stop, Harry cocked his head to the side, straining his ears to hear every slight noise . . . THERE! He could here the broken sound of sobbing, which made Harry's not inconsiderable protective streak rear its head. Sympathy rose with in him, causing his own pain to be momentarily forgotten. Not really understanding the reason behind the action, Harry turned the corner and continued on, ever nearer to the distraught person. 

Turning the last corner he found . . . Draco?!?!?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

. . . "I -I love you. I honestly think I have always loved you." Still leaning his head against the painting, Draco drew on its strength to make his great confession. Granted, no one would be around to hear it . . . but he would still have done it. Ruthlessly quashing his the little mocking part of him that offered up the old "if a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it . . . does it make a sound?", Draco remained, perfectly still, with closed eyes, forehead and one palm touching the portrait, waiting. Waiting for what? Waiting for the lightening to strike, for the "something" that always happened when ever he went out on a limb, waiting oh-so-patiently to find out what would foil his not-so-evil plot this time. 

When, after several minutes a silence, nothing happened – Draco lifted his head, staring into the painted eyes of his true love, leaving one hand to lovingly caress the masterpiece, before continuing on with his private declaration. "Your *physical* beauty is stunning, spectacular but completely eclipsed by your inner beauty. You are intelligent and wise beyond your years. Strong, loyal and courageous, you make me want to be a better man. You treat every creature on this earth with the same respect. Y-you treat *me* . . .wi- . . I -" Here Draco was forced to pause, gulping in great breaths of air, desperate to finish, to get it all out.

"E-Even though I treat you like dirt, you never sink to my level. Even though I know you could never love me, I find myself falling a little more in love with you everyday, in so many ways." Now he stepped away from the painting, to take it all in at once. Somehow he managed to keep the calm he had found, enough to make the last confession.

"I don't really know what possessed me to paint this portrait, but I'm glad I did. Even if you never know it was me, this painting will be here forever, an embodiment of my love for you. I know you hate me now, that you are in love with someone else, but all I can swear is that I will love you every day of my life, with every thing I have. You are my conscience, my guiding star, for you I will be a better man, I will try to become everything you prize so highly. You have my heart, you have my soul, do with them what you will."

Thus said, Draco stood silently for a moment, gazing at his masterpiece, smiling sadly, bleary eyed with new tears and old sadness. Somehow he knew that fate was noting this little twist with interest, filing it away so that someday it could come back to bite him on the ass but . . . he couldn't care. Even if Harry never knew Draco loved him, he would always have Draco's painting to remind him that someone cared. Sighing softly, Draco turned and walked down the hall, he would cast a locating charm to find his way back, but nothing could save his lost heart, it was in the hands of fait now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry sank slowly to the carpeted floor where Draco, his beloved, had stood and confessed his love only moments before. Granted, Draco didn't know that Harry had heard him, but all is fair in love and war and anything you say may be held against you. If Harry could use this to finally get together with Draco, then he would, anything for the sake of love. Harry still could not quite come to terms with the fact that Draco had loved him. _All. The. Time. _He still wasn't really sure why Draco had looked at him like that when the paintings had been announced –

"OH GODS! I am *such* an_ idiot!"_

 - Draco had painted a picture just like he had, obviously he had intended to enter it in the contest either because the thoughts reflected in his silver eyes must have been very similar to the ones in his own . . .and if *he* had thought Draco hated him after seeing those thoughts . . . then obviously Draco must have thought the same thing about him. It was incredibly bad luck . . . a comedy of errors. Stupid, *stupid* errors.

Banging his head on the floor, Harry revised his previous statement -  "DEAR GODS!!!! WE'RE *BOTH* IDIOTS!!!!!"

Harry now knew that Draco loved him, that they could be happy and together forever, he was sure of it, a soul deep kind of certainty. But then again . . . Draco hadn't yet heard a confession of *his* love . . . he was at a decided disadvantage . . . and Harry would have to rectify that . . .      

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Draco finally returned to his room, he found something waiting for him. Right there on his bed was a note, purple paper, curling gold writing, and dazzling words –

_"Dearest Draco,_

_Meet me in The Grove at midnight. All will be explained._

_Your admirer,_

_The Artist."_

Draco almost through the paper away in disgust - it *had* to be a prank of some sort, hurtful teasing, probably those rotten Weasel Twins – but then he noticed that the note said "The Grove" which was how he knew the place where he had been painted in the portrait. No one else could know about that place. He was surprised that even the artist knew about it. Draco was finally convinced when he happened to run a finger over the glowing golden writing . . . and he felt it again, that amazing blend of feelings and emotions, a surge of love right from the very paper, and he knew. He knew that something special was going on here, as the note said, if he went tonight, he would not be disappointed . . . *something*, something *big*, was going to happen tonight, he just wished he knew what.

In less than a moment, Draco had made his decision. He would gotonight, at midnight, and he would meet whoever showed up. He needed answers and he had nothing left to lose anyway.Bring it on.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The night sky was bright, black velvet and diamonds. A whistling wind blew. All else was calm silence. The moon was full in the sky, flooding The Grove with pale, romantic light. All the birds and creatures were silent for once, waiting expectantly. The Grove seemed to exist outside reality, protected from all the lies and tragedies of every day life, forever peaceful and secure. It was a sanctuary for those seeking escape from their troubles for a little while, a sanctuary, sacred. And tonight it would stand witness to whatever happened as it had so many times before.

Draco entered from a shadowed corner of the clearing, stepping forward hesitantly into the light of the moon. On a subconscious level, he tried to quiet his footsteps, both out of respect for the beautiful place he was visiting and in a vain attempt to keep his arrival a secret if someone was already waiting for him. Draco was right, someone was waiting for him, and though he tried to keep hidden, they knew instantly that he was there.  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Turning towards the sound behind him, Harry hid a satisfied smile in the darkness. Perfect. Fixing a look of shocked confusion on a completely on his face and complementing it with a personalised and totally believable look of beguiling innocence, Harry called out into the darkness near one of the entrances where he knew Draco was standing amongst the shadows. "Malfoy? Is that you? What are you doing over there in the shadows?" Moving forward, Harry was confronted with a genuinely puzzled Draco, meeting him in the middle of the clearing. Luckily for Harry, Draco's mask had lowered from shock, and he could see every thought in those quicksilver eyes.

"Harry? What are you doing here?" Harry barely held back a moan at the casual mention of his first name, he had never heard it from those lips before, hadn't expected this reaction. Harry gave himself a mental slap and reminded himself to "Get on with The Plan!". Draco was obviously suspicious, his eyebrows were slightly drawn together and there was a calculating glint in his eyes. If Harry wanted this to go his way, he had to act quickly.

"Well Draco, I got a note this evening asking to meet the creator of my portrait here, tonight, at midnight . . . you didn't send the note did you?" Harry figured that one use of a first name deserved another, and by now he was confident enough to realise that Draco's shudder was one of pleasure, not revulsion. Fantastic. Harry had also just given Draco an opportunity to confess face to face, although he was pretty positive that it would take quite a bit more coercion to really convince him to take that kind of chance. 

"What? . . . No, no I didn't. Actually I got a note saying the same thing. I think this was a mistake. I better go." Draco was disappointed. He had yet again had it rubbed in his face that Harry hadn't painted that picture for him, though he wondered who did. He was also more than a little confused . . . and because of that . . *very* suspicious. *He* knew that he had painted Harry's portrait . . . and he also knew that he hadn't sent that note . . . so who had? What the hell was going on here? 

Harry had to think quickly. Gods damn it; Draco was too suspicious for his own good. He was going to ruin everything. Mentally skipping a few points down his list of things to say Harry came up with – "Wait! Maybe they're coming! Why don't we wait a little longer." Oh yeah . . . that didn't sound desperate. Double Damn.

Draco simply narrowed his eyes, taking a step back. "What are you playing at Potter?" Oh no, we're back to that, thought Harry. Well at least he wasn't leaving. 

Harry knew that Draco had painted his portrait, and he knew that *Draco* knew he had painted that portrait, so he felt safe in a little teasing, anything to get Draco to open up, to drop the masks. Picking a name randomly and improvising a little, Harry plastered on his most innocent look, complete with wide eyes and laughed "Nothing Draco! I was just curious as to who the artist was who painted my portrait. Have you seen it?" offcourse he had, Harry had seen him make the confession to the very same painting earlier that day, "It really is beautiful, so detailed, so carefully done, you can practically feel the love rolling off the canvas." A little ego stroking was *always* a good thing. 

"You know I think I might know who painted it!" Come on Draco. Say it. One last chance . . . .

"Oh, really? Who?" too late! Teasing in 5. 4. 3. 2. 1 –

"Well I'm almost positive it was Hermione!"                 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco just stood there, his face frozen, his jaw hanging open and his hands by his sides. And then in he swung into action. Harry needed to see it in slow motion. It all happened to fast for his liking – 

First. Draco's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. 

Second. It was almost perceptible as Draco gathered all his strength, coiling to spring like a giant snake. But without the fangs. Or the scales. Ok forget that analogy. 

It was simply obvious that he was about to pounce and Harry was the only prey in sight. Before he could even think of running, Draco was upon him. He slammed into Harry, knocking him to the ground, the weight of Draco's lean body keeping him pinned to the ground, two surprisingly strong arms caging him. From this superior position of power, Draco growled low and furious, his eyes locked with Harry's. "Are. You. Mad, Potter?" the question was obviously a rhetoric so . . .Harry probably did the wrong thing by opening his mouth to answer back. It didn't matter, he couldn't get out any words anyway and Draco seemed to appreciate the convenient move in the end.

His mouth slammed down onto Harry's own, tongue seeking entrance as he fought to express physically what he could not verbally. Harry was soon lost. It was hard and passionate, a release of years of tension, probably something they had to get out of the way . . . definitely something they had to enjoy. Their tongues duelled, Harry's flickering out to tease and entice, Draco's surging, claiming, branding with wet heat that melted Harry's bones. Together they performed a vibrant, sensual dance of body's and unspoken words. Magic.

 . . . "*That* is why it was not _Hermione _she doesn't have the passion, the romance, she cannot love you as I do. How could she have painted that for you, huh?? . . .

Both panting they stared at each other, hot breath steaming between them. Simultaneously they realised what Draco had said - _"love you as I do"_. 

Fighting hard to restrain the primal crow of triumph building in his throat, Harry could not control the bubbling laughter that spilled from his still open, swollen lips. Oh god. Hermione. And Him. Him. And Hermione. Together. It was just too funny for words. But when Draco started to pull away from him, a look of horror on his face, Harry quickly controlled himself wrapping his arms around Draco's waist to keep him on top of him, looking deep into his eyes. "Oh! No no no! I was joking you idiot! Ha Ha!!!! J.O.K.E" shaking his head, Harry must have jolted a stray memory back into place.

_" . . .I know you hate me now, that you are in love with someone else . . ." _

In love, with "someone else". Oh gods! Draco still had no idea that Harry loved him. He obviously thought Harry was in love with Hermione . . .for some strange reason. That would not do at all. "Now listen Draco, I don't know where you got this idea of me loving Hermione but I don't ok. She's just a friend. It was just a joke. I know you painted that beautiful portrait. I invited you here myself."

"You . . .? How? What?" Draco really was cute when he was bewildered, Harry thought. 

"I invited you here. Because I saw you talking to the paintings in the galleria . . . we'll talk about that later by the way . . . and well because I wanted to say  . . . thankyou." Ok so it wasn't exactly a great romantic declaration of love . . . yet. But anything could happen in the moonlight.

"So, you um know I painted the picture huh? I guess you heard everything else to then . . . I really do love you."

"I know that. Plus you just said it but tha - . . .mmmffghhh" This time, though sudden, the kiss was a true expression of their love, warm and sweet, so spine meltingly, heart wringingly beautiful, passionate and oooh-so-romantic that Harry felt tears come to his eyes. "mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm" when Draco suddenly broke away, Harry was left blinking bemusedly, so cute that Draco returned for just one more sweet little kiss before once more lifting his head, a curios look of concentration on his face.

"Wha? . . . meeeh? Harry's noises were little mewls, desperately close to a whine. His mind blank, he was almost purring with pleasure, the only thought he was capable of was "More". And "Now". And then just "Draco".

The warmly affectionate, sensual chuckle only just penetrated Harry's lust-fogged mind. The smile was obvious in his voice, "I was just wondering, we know who painted your painting but . . . who painted mine?" 

"mmmmm. You talk too much." It was a nice attempt, especially when combined with a nifty little full body wriggle that made Draco groan, but it was far too late. At the return of relative coherency, Draco was instantly suspicious; the wriggle was just a nice extra.

"Harrrr_-yyy_?!?" It was a perfect McGonagall impression and Harry almost burst out laughing. Almost. 

"Well ok so it was me.  . . I – love you . . . I always have and I guess I always will. The painting was all for you, I wanted to show you, you were loved . . . Did you like it?" There was a definite flush to Harry's cheeks and his eyes were cast down in fake modesty. It was still cute.

Draco growled low in his throat, taking a moment to look at his soul mate, his lover, his beloved, His Harry, the most beautiful thing in his world.

And then, there in the moonlight, Draco proceeded to show him just how much he had *loved* the painting, and how much he loved Harry himself, just as he would continue to show him in every way possible for the rest of their lives.

That night an amazing light could be seen from the castle, radiating from somewhere in the forest. Swirls of silver and gold melded and flowed, and to it seemed as if both the sun and the moon had converged on one place. No one bothered to investigate.         __

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

At another time Harry and Draco would return to the galleria, hand in hand, only to find their paintings gone. Instead there wound hang in that place forever more an enormous landscape, beautiful beyond words. The frame is a work of art itself, ancient wood, precious stones, rare shells, feathers, all woven together to create an intricate pattern, delicate but strong, protecting and surrounding the painting. But the painting itself, now that was something to see. It was more than a masterpiece. It was without any imperfection, no stroke out of place, every shadow falling just so, the colours vibrant and exquisite, it was *so* good in fact . . . that it seemed it could not have been done by any _mortal _artist.

This incredible work of art depicted a beautiful sunset, all warm reds and golds fading to cooler blues and all the shades in between. The scene was caught forever at that wondrous, rare moment between night and day, when both share the sky for a few brief moments, putting on a phenomenal display for any lucky enough to see it. Both the sun and the moon could be seen in different corners of the brightly hued sky, both bright and strong, but nothing compared to the power, the beauty of the twilight.

This astounding sight was clear above the tree line, contrasting with the rich greens of the tall treetops, ancient oak, rowan, pine and fir, all towering, their branches spread wide and high, joyously embracing the dusky sky, limbs stretched up towards the clouds, a meeting of earth and air. Through the thick trunks of the trees, if you looked hard enough, you could sea the wild blue glimmerings of an ancient ocean. Those regal trees created a ring of secrecy, protection, around a verdant clearing, thriving with life. 

The greenest grass, lush and springy, carpeted the soft earth in glorious splendour. Wild flowers like precious jewels grew all over, all the colours of the rainbow and more. Exotic birds, bright colours, small and delicate, flitted amongst the higher branches, singing their bewitching melodies, serenading the grove. Soulful and sly, soft and glittering, gleaming in the shadows, mysterious eyes peered curiously into the clearing, unafraid but un willing to interfere. The grove was steeped, surrounded in ancient magic. And behind the birds, the flowers, the trees, beneath the shadows and beyond all that was so obvious, there was the barely seen, the barely known, sparkling and shimmering, iridescent with power and ancient magic, strange beings floated, watching, protecting, just existing.

And amidst all of this wonder, at the centre of it all, there were two beings, one pale as the moon, and the other warm as the sun. Both wore robes of richest purple and sat together, cushioned by luxuriant vegetation, embracing, entwined and entangled so that it was impossible to tell were one ended and another began. Two halves of a whole, they radiated love and joy, an almost visible force, and any who looked upon them could only cry tears of joy and laugh that at least something was right in the world.

In balance and in harmony they found peace.

In love and in joy the found forever.

In themselves, together, they found perfection.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Written by BaBe_WiTh_BiTe – AKA Amy Edwards

Note: purple is a mixture or blue and red and also the colour associated with gay pride – poor tinkiwinki. Ummm I tried to make everything clear and enjoyable, if anyone had any questions, email me at the address below/

Well theres no more TBC's this is the end . . .or is it? . . lol so clichéd 

That really should have been 2 or 3 chapters but what they hey! I promised 1 last chap and I delivered =P even if it was a little long (ok almost 3 times the normal length but who cares). Thank god for the wonderful restorative powers of copious amounts of caffeine. I only got three hours sleep last night 5:00- 8:00 *sigh* and its already 1 o clock again . . .vicious cycle I say. . I'm due to crash aaaannnyyy minute now . . .=P caffeinated beverages only take you so far. *sleepy grin*

If any one cares my middle name is Caitlin so my enitials are ACE =) just an interesting little tidbit for you . . . I really am sleep deprived . .now im rambling.      

Ummm id like to say thatnkyou all for reading and reviewing, you really don't know how much your encouragement means to me, I'm only 13 and still pretty unsure if anyone really wants to read what I want to write lol =P so just . . .thankyou

Also, if you've read my whole story, I would really appreciate it if you could help me out a little by telling me what you liked and what I could have done to make it better. 

Ummm also if anyone likes my work and has a little free time, im looking for a beta who can give my work a little check for stupid errors (my worst fault imafraid) and um so yeah ud get to see chapters before everyone else =D um I write a lot, usually a chapter ever day or two so you no. but if any one is interested, please email me at glittergalrules@hotmail.com thanx :)

Love you all, merry Christmas, happy New Year, good luck and good bye.


End file.
